The Women of Fishers Wharf

Tracy Baines

Description

Can you leave the past behind and embrace the future? - A brand new series from Tracy Baines.

'A new saga author has arrived. The Women of Fisher’s Wharf is a joy to read' - AnneMarie Brear

Great Grimsby, 1912
Newlywed fisherman Alec Hardy decides to make a fresh start with his young wife Letty and move to the thriving fishing port of Grimsby in search of a brighter future.
Letty is from farming stock and knows nothing of the hard life as a fishermen’s wife but is willing to embrace the challenge with Alec.
But where Alec goes, so does his widowed mother, Dorcas and she has trouble coming to terms with taking second place in her son’s life.
With Alec at sea for weeks on end, the two women clash and Letty seeks escape from her bitter mother-in-law amongst the streets of Fish Dock Wharf.
Can Letty help them break free from the shadows of the past or will she be bound by Dorcas’ insistence that they cling to the old ways?

Praise for Tracy Baines:

‘A saga about ambition, hard work, courage ...and spite’. Rosie Clarke
I highly recommend this book.’ Fenella Miller
‘An emotional, entertaining read that had me gripped!’ Sheila Riley
'An absorbing saga. I loved it from the very beginning and would highly recommend it...' Elaine Roberts
'Terrific - beautifully written. A well-crafted and satisfying story' Maisie Thomas
‘A pleasure from start to finish.’ Glenda Young
‘an evocative, busy, entertaining read vying with angst, and of course, more than a dollop of tension.’ Margaret Graham, Frost Magazine
‘Characterisation is one of the book’s strong points – the individual characters stay in your mind long after you finish the story.’ Barbara Dynes, The Voice‘I just loved this book! Molly Walton

Sujets

• Fantastique
• Romance fantastique
• Sport
• Autres sports
• Vie de famille
• Parentalité et Éducation des Enfants
• Relations familiales
• Soutien psychologique et conseils familiaux
• Sea Stories
• Historical Fiction
• 20th Century
• World Literature
• Historical
• Women
• Motherhood
• Men
• Inglaterra
• Friendship
• Historical romance
• Dating
• SpongeBob SquarePants
• Sea story
• General officer
• Parenting
• Fishing
• Woman
• The Women
• General
• Christian
• Topic
• Family Life
• Romance
• Lincolnshire
• England
• Hameçonnage
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 17 octobre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781804265246
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE WOMEN OF FISHER’S WHARF



TRACY BAINES
To Gylettie Emma Meadows
A promise made. A promise kept.
And to my mum
For everything
CONTENTS



Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42


Acknowledgments

More from Tracy Baines

About the Author

Sixpence Stories

About Boldwood Books
1
GREAT GRIMSBY, MONDAY 29 APRIL, 1912

They didn’t have much, but they had each other, and that was enough for Letty Hardy. It had to be, for everything else she loved had been left behind in Lowestoft: her family, their farm, the wide green fields broken by hedgerows, the sprawling trees, the brook that ran by the lane to the village. She longed for them now, her heart already heavy with doubt at what she had done.
It had been a shock when they had finally arrived at Mariners Row. She’d not expected a palace but had expected more than this. The shabby two-up, two-down dwelling was one of eight – four houses on either side of a narrow cobbled yard, their front doors facing each other. At the back they each had an outhouse, a coal hole and a scrappy bit of yard. There was an alley between the second and third houses, the walls blackened by soot from the numerous trains that ran along the railway line a few yards away. A long high wall that divided them from the stables of Dawson’s haulage yard closed off the other end. Below it stood the shared pump – the only source of fresh water.
Letty tried not to dwell on it as she plumped the feather pillows and ran her hand over the patchwork coverlet, keeping her gaze from the filthy walls of the room, away from the broken window that Alec had patched with a piece wood taken from a fruit crate that held her small pieces of china. The delicate tea service was a wedding gift from her godmother and she’d placed it on the pine chest at the bottom of the bed, a small thing of beauty in the chilled, damp room.
Had it been only one week that she, four days shy of her twentieth birthday, had walked down the aisle of the village church to stand beside Alec? Her mother had urged her to wait, but Letty hadn’t wanted to, longing to be with Alec, in his arms, in his bed.
‘So soon after his brother’s death?’ her mother had questioned when she’d given her the news of Alec’s marriage proposal. They’d courted only eight short months and for most of that time Alec was at sea. His absences filled Letty with a sense of urgency – that so much had to be packed into the time he was ashore.
There had been plenty of time to reflect on her mother’s gentle warnings as they had travelled by train to Grimsby that fresh April morning. Instead of the excitement and anticipation that had carried her through the preparations for their departure, Letty had felt a leaden fear gather in the pit of her stomach as the distance between Lowestoft and their destination grew, and now here she was, and that heaviness remained.
The bed made, Alec laid on it and patted the place beside him. Letty pointed to his boots and he adjusted his legs so that his feet hovered over the bare floorboards. Only then did she come beside him. He lifted his arm, draping it over her shoulder and pulled her close. Through the open window, they heard coarse shouting, a loud thwack of old hand against young flesh, a child bawling.
‘Welcome to your new home, Mrs Hardy.’
She laughed, they both did, and it was like the cork coming out of a bottle.
‘Our new home,’ she corrected. There was time yet to improve it.
‘No regrets?’ he asked.
She shook her head in answer, fearing her voice might betray her, glad he couldn’t see her face. A swell of sadness rose up inside her and she pushed away thoughts of the lonely hours that lay ahead. She’d had little time to learn what being a fisherman’s wife entailed, her time spent on goodbyes and preparing to travel north to the thriving fishing port of Grimsby on the south bank of the River Humber. Alec had fished out of Lowestoft, as had his father, and his father before him, making a fair living but not a good one. Sail had given way to steam and Alec had his eye on the future. He had come to Grimsby for the deep-sea fishing, for trips that would take him way for weeks at a time, in fair winds and foul. How would she live here without him?
He placed his hand under her chin, tilted her face to his, kissed her. His full lips were warm and hard on her mouth and when she closed her eyes, the shabbiness of their surroundings faded.
‘Are you done up there?’ came a voice from downstairs and he let her go, sitting up to call out to his mother.
‘Just finished.’ He kissed her again, briefly this time, and got up from the bed, pulled her to her feet. ‘Come on, lass. We’ll get a crust to eat, then go out and get some air.’
She followed him down the narrow staircase, through the small front room and into the kitchen, where her mother-in-law, Dorcas, was standing by the table, slicing bread. Her work-roughened hands moved quickly, and her grey eyes briefly flashed at Letty, indicating her disapproval. She was a woman bleached of colour, her long grey hair plaited and wound about her head, dressed in the black of protracted mourning. The loss of her husband, Will, nine years ago, and more recently of her seventeen-year-old son, Robbie, had robbed her of so much and the only source of light and colour in her life she gained from Alec. He was fourteen when his father was killed in a freak accident at sea and he’d stepped up to become the man of the family. His father’s half-share of the fishing smack, the Stella Maris , had been passed to his sons on his death, and the brothers had learned to handle a ship under the guidance of their Uncle Eric, owner of the remaining share. When Robbie had been washed overboard nine months ago, Dorcas had sunk into deep depression and Alec had convinced her that a fresh start would be the healing she needed. Letty had not known her long enough to disagree. Uncle Eric, father of daughters and no sons, was all for selling up and using his share of the sale to buy into a smokehouse. A buyer had been found for the Stella Maris and Alec had left the sale in his uncle’s capable hands, on the understanding that Alec’s share of the profit would be sent on to them in Grimsby. It had all happened so fast and Letty had been swept along by Alec’s vision of their bright future.
Today, excusing her mother-in-law’s sourness for tiredness, Letty made for the shelf where she’d placed the preserves her mother had given them from her own stores. She took down a jar of honey, removed the cork stopper and passed it to Dorcas, who snatched it from her.
‘We’ll need more than honey to sweeten this mucky hole.’ She banged the jar on the table, making Letty startle.
‘Now, Mother,’ Alec soothed. ‘I wasn’t to know, was I?’
Dorcas softened slightly. ‘It’s not you, lad. I wasn’t blaming you.’ She stared down at the bread, shook her head. ‘To think I left my dear cottage for this. My friends, my…’
Alec picked up the bread she’d scraped with honey and took a bite, chewing hungrily, sucking at the honey that clung to his fingers. ‘Now, I wasn’t going to leave you behind, was I?’ He put his arm about her shoulder. ‘Rooms in Grimsby are like gold dust, let alone finding a place of our own. We’ve been lucky.’
‘Lucky, my eye!’ Dorcas hacked another slice from the loaf.
Letty took up a pan of water and set it to boil on the range and busied herself gathering the brown teapot and mugs from the shelf, pulled a chair away from the table and sat down to eat.
‘You can look for something better once I’m away at sea.’ Alec rubbed at his chin, smiled at Letty. She returned it, her comfort brief.
Dorcas put down the knife. ‘Oh, we can, can we? And how will we pay for that? There’ll be nothing in the tin for a while. And I’ve yet to find braiding work.’
Alec took another slice of bread. ‘We can take a bit from the money we get from the sale of the Stella Maris when Uncle Eric sends it on.’
Dorcas’s response was venomous. ‘That money is not for frittering. It’s to be invested. In a ship. Your father’s legacy.’ She stuck out her chin. ‘And Robbie’s.’
Alec was suddenly subdued and the look of sadness exchanged between mother and son excluded Letty. Their loss was not hers.
Dorcas put the stopper back on the jar of honey and, wiping her hands on her apron, took a slice for herself and sat down in the chair opposite Letty. ‘It would be what your father wanted.’
Alec agreed and they continued their small repast in silence.
When they were done, the two women cleared away the plates. Letty wrapped the bread in a damp cloth and placed it in the crock, Alec slipping from one side to another as they moved about the cramped space. As Letty came close, he took hold of her hand. ‘We should go out, get our bearings.’
‘Eh, that would be grand,’ Dorcas said. ‘You can show us the Black Prince .’
Alec stood away from the sink while Letty shook the crumbs from the damp cloth into the earthenware sink. He shifted uneasily.
‘I was thinking me and Letty. Just so we can spend a little time together before I sail. Is that all right with you, Mother?’ He bent forward and kissed her head as he had kissed Letty’s only moments ago and she looked away. She mustn’t be afraid of the love he had for his mother, or hers for him, for didn’t she love her own parents as much? And yet there was something about Dorcas’s manner that made her feel an intruder