Bone Deep by Gina McMurchy-Barber Page A

that it was all about being the best homemaker for your family or best hostess for your husband’s business dinner parties. Who she became was partly due to the times she lived in.”
    â€œMaybe, but it wouldn’t be so bad if she would just stop trying to make me into Suzy homemaker or the queen of etiquette. Doesn’t she get it? Nobody cares about that stuff anymore.”
    â€œTrue, but maybe they should.”
    â€œMom, are you serious? Who cares if you eat with your elbows on the table, or whether you reach across instead of asking for someone to ‘please pass the salt and pepper?’ And what’s the big deal about writing thank-you notes — I mean who does that stuff anyway?”
    â€œPeggy, having good manners is more than just knowing which fork to use, or saying please and thank you. Etiquette is really about treating others with respect. Sometimes the smallest word and gesture can go a long way in maintaining harmony in a relationship. And remember, the quality of one’s life is best expressed in the small details. Those are the things that can set you apart.”
    â€œHumph,” I grunted. “That sounds just like something Aunt Beatrix would say.” Mom smiled. “Mom, did you mean what you said about how my interest in diving might spill over into other parts of my life?”
    â€œSure, every new skill and bit of knowledge all adds up to making us more well-rounded people. I can’t say how diving is going to do that for you — it’s not exactly a skill you can use every day, but you never know.” I was just about to tell her about the Intrepid when Aunt Beatrix called from her room.
    â€œElizabeth, come here right away. This cat of Margaret’s has spit up something disgusting on the floor.”
    â€œSorry, Pegs. Let’s talk more in the morning.” Thanks to Aunt Beatrix and Duff, the magic moment was gone. Maybe tomorrow would be the day.
    After Mom left the room I pulled out the captain’s journal. I tried to imagine what the original one looked like. Maybe it was bound in black leather. And the pages musky from age and so fragile they almost fell apart in your fingers. I closed my eyes and pictured the captain sitting at his desk, writing by candlelight, the ship swaying and creaking, the wind gently whistling, and the muffled voices of sailors on deck.
    November 10th, 1811
    We are now five weeks into our voyage and there is a growing and palpable uneasiness aboard the ship. It seems on most occasions Mister Lockhart is at the centre of it. Early yesterday morning Cook’s boy, Ellis, was caught pinching a penny’s worth of tobacco out of Mr. Lockhart’s pouch and I was forced to flog him. I detest brutality but it is my duty to keep strict discipline aboard the ship and to make it a warning to the others that stealing will not be tolerated. Had I not done it, I am sure Mister Lockhart would have snatched the whip from out of my hand and been happy to complete the task. He urged me menacingly to give the boy thirty lashes and cried out with disgust when I stopped at five. As unlikely as it sounds, I feel certain he was amused by the spectacle. I am even suspicious of why he left his pouch open on the table to begin with.
    To cheer the mood I ordered the men be given an extra ration of salt beef and a shot of rum for supper. It did the job somewhat. Then Mister Foster, my assistant boatswain, suddenly hailed us all to come observe what at first appeared to be a large black wave in the distance. As the entity drew nearer it became clear it was a whale — one so massive that it nearly equaled the Intrepid in length and breadth. Indeed, when it came up side of us there was such a stir amongst the men I am sure the earlier events of the day were near forgotten.
    Some of the men are skilled in harpooning and wanted to kill the great humped animal. I forbade them on the premise that such a catch would take too