him. I simply said, we signed a deal, we keep it. We’re men of our word, aren’t we?”
“Even if it keeps food from our tables?”
“Your family’s not going to starve, Ike.”
“Not everyone lives high like you, Linc.”
Linc came away from the pile of traps he was leaning against. “I work hard for that money,” he said. “No man better say otherwise.”
“Not sayin’ you don’t. But I work hard, too. Either he pays me the going price or I’ll sail up the coast and sell my catch in the next harbor that’s not his.”
“And the festival?”
“Let the festival buy its lobsters from the market and pay market price like everyone else.”
A rumble of voices filled the room, but I couldn’t tell if the majority were in agreement or not. I tried not to look too interested in the proceedings, and stole a glance at Levi. His aggravated expression suggested he was uncomfortable that this argument was taking place in front of an outsider—me.
Linc raised the gavel and banged it on the woodblock until the voices died down. “All right. Give us a day or two. I’ll talk to Henry again.”
“You can talk to him longer than a hard winter and it ain’t gonna do any good,” Ike said, his voice rising. “We want action. And if you won’t do it, we can do it ourselves. There are plenty of men here ready to make a move. We don’t need the association if you’re not goin’ to stand up for us.” He looked around for support, but the room had grown very quiet.
There was venom in Linc’s eyes. “This association has represented Cabot Cove lobstermen for generations, Bower,” he said. “Don’t tell me we don’t have the best interests of our men at heart. You want to go off and form your own group, go. Anyone else here want to leave with him?”
Not a soul moved. It was clear no one else would side with Ike Bower against Linc Williams. Bower sat down, breathing heavily and shaking his head. “Can’t believe you guys,” he muttered.
There was a long pause. Linc’s voice broke the silence. “Now let’s move on.” He tilted his head in my direction. “You all know who Mrs. Fletcher is,” he said. “She wants to do an article on us for the Gazette . The question on the floor is: Assuming we want an article on the lobstermen to appear in that rag, who’s going to be the one to put her right? Carver, you have something to add?”
Levi straightened. “You said it right, Linc,” he said.
A man of few words, I thought. I’d hoped Levi would champion my cause. Obviously, I’d been wrong. I raised my hand. “I’d like to add something, if I may,” I said.
“That’s not necessary,” Linc said. “We know what you want.”
“Nevertheless,” I said, standing and turning to face the audience, hoping I could move them past the grim mood that had taken hold, “I’d like to make a statement.” Without waiting for Linc to interrupt me, and without glancing at the scowl I knew was on his face, I went on. “Cabot Cove is my hometown, and I’m very proud of it, as I’m sure you are. We have an opportunity with the upcoming festival to let visitors see what a charming and welcoming village we live in. What’s more important is that we’ll be helping the Main Street merchants in their quest to draw more customers.”
“What’s that got to do with us?” a voice said from the back of the room.
“I’m glad you asked,” I replied, looking from face to face, trying to see who had asked the question. “The merchants are as much a part of Cabot Cove as you and I are.” I ignored the snorts that greeted this remark. “They live here, pay taxes, and contribute to our community’s life.”
As I spoke, I scanned the faces looking back at me. There were about thirty people in the store. Chairs had been set between rows of display cases, some of which had been haphazardly shoved to the side of the room. A potbelly stove, the only source of heat in three seasons, sat to one side. There was
“Even if it keeps food from our tables?”
“Your family’s not going to starve, Ike.”
“Not everyone lives high like you, Linc.”
Linc came away from the pile of traps he was leaning against. “I work hard for that money,” he said. “No man better say otherwise.”
“Not sayin’ you don’t. But I work hard, too. Either he pays me the going price or I’ll sail up the coast and sell my catch in the next harbor that’s not his.”
“And the festival?”
“Let the festival buy its lobsters from the market and pay market price like everyone else.”
A rumble of voices filled the room, but I couldn’t tell if the majority were in agreement or not. I tried not to look too interested in the proceedings, and stole a glance at Levi. His aggravated expression suggested he was uncomfortable that this argument was taking place in front of an outsider—me.
Linc raised the gavel and banged it on the woodblock until the voices died down. “All right. Give us a day or two. I’ll talk to Henry again.”
“You can talk to him longer than a hard winter and it ain’t gonna do any good,” Ike said, his voice rising. “We want action. And if you won’t do it, we can do it ourselves. There are plenty of men here ready to make a move. We don’t need the association if you’re not goin’ to stand up for us.” He looked around for support, but the room had grown very quiet.
There was venom in Linc’s eyes. “This association has represented Cabot Cove lobstermen for generations, Bower,” he said. “Don’t tell me we don’t have the best interests of our men at heart. You want to go off and form your own group, go. Anyone else here want to leave with him?”
Not a soul moved. It was clear no one else would side with Ike Bower against Linc Williams. Bower sat down, breathing heavily and shaking his head. “Can’t believe you guys,” he muttered.
There was a long pause. Linc’s voice broke the silence. “Now let’s move on.” He tilted his head in my direction. “You all know who Mrs. Fletcher is,” he said. “She wants to do an article on us for the Gazette . The question on the floor is: Assuming we want an article on the lobstermen to appear in that rag, who’s going to be the one to put her right? Carver, you have something to add?”
Levi straightened. “You said it right, Linc,” he said.
A man of few words, I thought. I’d hoped Levi would champion my cause. Obviously, I’d been wrong. I raised my hand. “I’d like to add something, if I may,” I said.
“That’s not necessary,” Linc said. “We know what you want.”
“Nevertheless,” I said, standing and turning to face the audience, hoping I could move them past the grim mood that had taken hold, “I’d like to make a statement.” Without waiting for Linc to interrupt me, and without glancing at the scowl I knew was on his face, I went on. “Cabot Cove is my hometown, and I’m very proud of it, as I’m sure you are. We have an opportunity with the upcoming festival to let visitors see what a charming and welcoming village we live in. What’s more important is that we’ll be helping the Main Street merchants in their quest to draw more customers.”
“What’s that got to do with us?” a voice said from the back of the room.
“I’m glad you asked,” I replied, looking from face to face, trying to see who had asked the question. “The merchants are as much a part of Cabot Cove as you and I are.” I ignored the snorts that greeted this remark. “They live here, pay taxes, and contribute to our community’s life.”
As I spoke, I scanned the faces looking back at me. There were about thirty people in the store. Chairs had been set between rows of display cases, some of which had been haphazardly shoved to the side of the room. A potbelly stove, the only source of heat in three seasons, sat to one side. There was
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