The Whiskey Sea Read Online Free PDF Page A

“You could try the dress, Frieda. I bet it looks good on you.”
    Frieda strode away and entered the bedroom she’d shared with Bea ever since their mother had died. All those years back Silver had given up his room to the girls, and since then he’d slept on the divan in the living room or on the porch in the summer. For thirteen years now she and Bea had slept in the same bed, huddled together during winter nights after the fire in the woodstove had gone out, talking and giggling until one of them fell asleep. Throughout all the years she and Bea shared secrets, Frieda had never told Silver about the stray cats Bea fed or the time she and Bea had nearly drowned, floating away on a riptide before they fought their way back.
    A window faced the porch, and Frieda took a peek beyond the tattered curtains, where she could see Hicks standing tall, holding his mug and staring off into the oncoming night. Beyond him lights were twinkling across the bay and down by the docks. The full moon was rising, shooting out silver rays across the rippling waters. Taking a sip of lemonade, he then set the glass down. He seemed deep in thought, probably lost in dreams that contained a white picket fence or a bedroom with windows that overlooked the bay.
    Hicks wasn’t a bad man as far as she could tell. But now that he’d ruined her plans, how was she going to find a way to make things better? Silver had been making less and less money, because he could no longer stay out on the boat all day. The house needed a new roof, and the foundation was beginning to shift. They bought only the cheapest food at the grocer’s and ate clams or fish most every night. Beef and pork were luxuries, along with butter and sweets of any sort. Silver had had no business splurging on the dresses.
    And what of Bea? She took to books, not the sea. She got seasick on the water, and her skin burned like parchment in the sun. She believed in castles in the sky; she dreamed of things way beyond her reach. She loved literature, poetry, art, and fashion. She could barely do ordinary chores. Her hands broke out in a rash from doing the laundry. Dust made her cough and sneeze. When she tried to cook, she usually burned the food. And she came down with bad colds and sore throats every winter. She would never survive having baby after baby in some clammer’s shack. The reality of a life like that would probably kill her.
    Frieda turned around and touched the dress hanging on the wall. Silver had bought it in one of the dress shops that resold clothes donated by the summer crowds. But still, he’d paid too much, and it wasn’t even the new drop-waist style she’d seen the fancy women wearing lately. Instead it was made of cotton in a small flowery print, fitted at the waist with a cloth-covered belt. What had he been thinking?
    Frieda took it down and slipped into the thing—for Bea, not for Silver. She could’ve worn her school oxfords with a pair of clean socks, but instead she stuck her feet into Silver’s old rubber sea boots, which she wore when he let her go out on the boat with him. She pulled the stained straw hat that she sported on the same occasions down low on her head.
    When she walked into the living room, Silver, Bea, and Hicks were seated at the table, waiting for her. She stomped in and plunked herself down in the only empty chair. Silver looked up, and she could tell he appreciated her giving in about the dress and also disapproved of her ruining the effect with the boots and hat. Silver and Bea took what appeared to be a knowing glance at one another, while Bea fidgeted with her napkin, but Hicks simply sat back and laughed aloud.
    “Well, well,” said Silver as he likewise leaned back in the chair. “There’s a girl in there after all.”
    Frieda grabbed her napkin, shook it open, and plopped it in her lap. “Do we have bread?”
    “Right here,” Bea answered, passing the bread basket. In the center of the table sat the pot of steaming