Chapter 7

Simon had not been home for two whole days now and Hannah was beside herself with anxiety.

At breakfast on the first morning of his absence she had given his taciturn brother an opportunity to explain; but Andrew, whose only distinction was a talent for minding his own business, had not gone farther than to say that Simon had slept on shipboard.

But on the morning of the third day the desperate woman decided to learn the meaning of it even at the risk of a rebuff. Having brought in their breakfast, she seated herself opposite Andrew and stared at him until he reluctantly and briefly lifted his eyes.

‘I cannot bear this any longer!’ she exclaimed. ‘Andrew, you must tell me now what has happened to him!’

Andrew, finishing his cakes and honey, waited until he had swallowed the last mouthful. Glancing in her general direction, he made what was—for him—quite an elaborate reply.

‘I wish I knew,’ he said.

‘Have I offended him, Andrew?’

‘You would know if you had.’

‘Did Esther have anything to do with it?’

‘Better ask her.’

‘I did.’

Andrew grinned a little, but exhibited no curiosity about the result of this inquiry, his silence proclaiming that it was none of his business. Hannah broke down now and cried. It distressed Andrew. He had never seen her in tears since the day Abigail died. Pushing back his chair, he faced her directly with sympathy in his eyes.

‘I do not know what troubles him. The fleet goes out every day, same as always. The fishing has been good, and the weather. There has been no trouble among the men. My brother attends to his duties. He has little to say to anyone. His mind is not in his work. He is worried about something.’

‘And you don’t know what?’ persisted Hannah, when Andrew seemed to have ended his surprisingly long speech.

‘No; he has not said and I have not asked him.’

‘Why don’t you?’

‘It is not my habit to ask people what they are thinking about.’

‘But Simon is your brother!’