“Are you ill, Stephie?” Nellie asks nervously.
“Seasick,” says Stephie. “I suppose I’m seasick.”
She hangs on tightly to the rail, eyes still shut. Her knees are weak under her. Nellie helps her back to the cabin. She lies down on a bench, using her knapsack as a pillow, and rests. The world is spinning…
***
From the depths of sleep, Stephie feels someone tugging at her sleeve.
“Leave me alone,” she mumbles. “I need to sleep.”
But the tugging persists. She cannot ignore it. Her eyes open.
“Stephie!” Nellie shouts. “We’re there.”
It takes Stephie a moment to remember. Nellie is standing next to her, hopping up and down eagerly. Her cheeks are rosy and the ribbon on one of her braids has come undone.
“Hurry up! We’re there.”
three
When Stephie steps out onto the deck, the odor hits her like an invisible wall.
The air reeks of salt and fish and something rotten. Nauseous again, Stephie swallows hard and looks around.
The boat has pulled up alongside a wooden dock lined with white fishing boats that have broad hulls and short masts. The wind rattles their rigging. All kinds of little boats are moored along the jetties. A breakwater of huge boulders shelters this small harbor from the waves.
Tall wooden racks line the harbor. Some of them are empty; some have fishnets hanging to dry. One is covered with triangular shapes that look like white bats, their wings spread wide.
The dock itself is dotted with red-and-gray boathouses, opening toward the water. Behind them are low houses, painted in pastel shades. They look as if they’re springing right up out of the rocks.
Before anyone can disembark, lots of crates and sacks have to be unloaded. A boy with a rubber-wheeled barrow rolls them out onto the dock. A sack breaks, and some potatoes go tumbling into the water. Nellie laughs, but is soon silenced when she sees how a big red-faced man scolds the boy.