[CW: Grooming.]

1888.

Lory had spent longer at market than she had intended. There was this one gentleman who came about in the lunchtime. She had learned to time her day accordingly. If he came, he paid for everything and then some. She wondered if he were courting her, but her mother was adamant that courting began no earlier than sixteen.

So, she entertained his attention without making note of it. Polite smiles, the way the girls in school did when they were waiting for their turn to talk. Effusive gratitude. A question, here and there, about the gentleman’s life.

Sometimes, the questions she wanted to ask Ruth but was too nervous to. Ruth was a friend, but it felt dishonest to praise her beauty the way the other girls praised each other. She could not pinpoint why – just that it did.

She had enough dishonesty in her life, skirting around father. God! Sometimes she wished the sea would chew him up and spit him out a kinder soul, like a stone that had had its rough edges rolled away.

Their little shack came into view. The sky was dark, and the wind was whipping. As she carted their staples in, she could see that none of the men’s clothes were hanging out to dry yet. It was quiet.

Peaceful.

She hummed a tune to herself as she stocked the pantry, her excuse for the extras already at the back of her mind.

"Lory!" Rose came running into the home without knocking and found her cousin in the pantry. "They're in Staithes! They ran for Staithes! They're bringing back t' cobles by road!"

Rose's red hair was tied in two long braids. She was small for her age and the big woolen shawl that she had wrapped around her body to keep her warm against the icy wind only made her look smaller. She untied it and tossed it down on the table. She was hot now that she was inside, even though the cottage was poorly heated. She had come running as fast as she could to share the happy news.

She hadn't liked the way the wind had turned and the waves had been swept up against the piers and she had noticed how her mother and the other fisher women had seemed increasingly tense. When she had been released from her chores, she had gone to the piers and waited and waited, but she had been unable to see the cobles. She had whispered charms and prayers alike into the winds.

They had been answered. The men were safe.

Lory was belting out a meandering, half-remembered song (that was more glorious ‘aaaa’s than words) from a recent busker when the door opened. She managed to turn the last ‘word’ into a coughing fit, patting her sternum as she turned to face Rose.

Though still a skinny, androgynous thing, Lory had already reached a height with her mother. She was a woman now! That damned diaper proved it.

“Good! Good,” she exhaled.

Look, it had been a long note.

“Baker should be by tonight,” she said. “We should have a bit extra to go around.”

There were ten of Uncle Ben’s under one roof, after all … and she couldn’t imagine Rose or Alice leading men on.

“How bad is it out?”

Not an uncommon question from her. It was a little more exciting when she was indoors rather than out.

Lory's calm reaction frustrated her a little. Sure, their fathers and brothers had always returned when there was a storm, but that didn't mean there wasn't a danger every time.

"It's gettin' worse. It's started to rain. They'll be soakin' wet 'n cold when they get 'ere. Let's 'ope they don't fall ill."

She cast a look into the pantry. Father and uncle Paul often fished close together, although on different boats. Their catches were often similar. How was her cousin's pantry that much better stocked?

Lory, on the other hand, was thinking long and hard about that loaf of bread headed their way. Maybe it would even still be warm when they bit into it! Was that man asking for sex? Nah. Men paid prostitutes afterward. They had to, right? The fish was right there, but sex seemed complicated.

Was it a sin to think of offering herself up for survival? Lot had sold every one of his daughters down the line, after all.

‘One less mouth to feed’ was what immediately came to mind. The thought skipped through her head like a stone across the sea before sinking under guilty waves.

“Let’s hope,” she echoed.

She spent a lot of time pretending to be as concerned and virtuous as Rose. Wasn’t very good at it. Maybe it just took practice.

“Seen the others much today?”

What had her cousin been doing all day that she was so unperturbed and not even aware where her family was?

"Yer mam is at our place. We stopped gatherin' bait when we realized there's a storm comin'. Don't know where the bairns went off to. Shall we go see if we can 'elp our mams?" She was eager to make her father and brothers as comfortable as possible when they returned. It would probably be midnight and they'd be soaked and exhausted. She didn't want them to fall ill.

There were some boys (and girls, even!) whose hands were so deft a dandy nary felt their touch. Could she do that? Would disgrace weigh heavier than their steel traps?

Maybe. But by God, it grew more tempting with every aching, hollow growth spurt.

If she honed a limber voice, maybe she could become one of those famous opera singers and send something back home. Something back home from far, far, far away.

“Yes,” Lory agreed, only half hearing as her mind meandered back to bread. “Let’s go.”

Her accent had been the least thick of theirs for some years now, starting after she had gone to school. It got stronger in the home, but she regularly shed it like a shawl.

Lory picked her shawl up and shrugged it back on. The warmth had already faded from it, to her chagrin.

Rose put her shawl over her head and shoulders, tying its corners on her back. She looked at Lory. Her cousin's mind seemed to be elsewhere. Rose took her hand. "They'll be alright. And we can manage a few days without income. Yer pantry looks well stocked."

There was a slight flush to her face at Rose’s pantry comment. She was a sinner. She did what she needed to! She was a sinner. If the meek were to inherit – where was theirs?

She was a sinner.

“Yes, but some of our boys are so young.”

And it was their stomachs that were answered the quickest. Another unwanted prickle of contempt trilled through her.

Lory didn’t bother tying her shawl as she headed for the door, mind frantic over the reduced income.

Could she rob a summer home? Smash a window and then … and then what?

"Ye'll manage," Rose tried to comfort her.

As soon as they stepped outside, the wind caught her shawl and skirts and began to pull at them. Cold rain beat the side of her face. Even in the short amount of time she had spent in Lory's home, the storm had gotten worse. Poor father, poor Tom and Simon, having to walk such a long way back to Whitby in this horrible weather. At least they had made it back to shore. She hoped everyone had.

"We'll be soaked! Let's run!" she shouted over the winds and she began to run, still holding Lory's hand. Lory was much taller than her. She should be able to keep up.