It was still early in the morning, but Anne was already out at the beach. Her father and brothers had gone out earlier that morning before the sun was up after a storm had made leaving the harbour impossible for a few days. It made her nervous whenever they took their chances as soon as the storm subsided. She always dreaded that the storm would gain force again as it had that fatal morning many years ago, when her brother and uncle and cousin had lost their lives. There was still a north easterly gale this morning, and whenever a sudden strong gust hit her or tugged at her skirts, she turned and looked out across the sea anxiously.

There was nothing she could do but pray, she would try to ease herself. Her responsibility was to focus on the task at hand, to gather as much driftwood as she could find. It made the cooking range so awfully more difficult to clean and it made their room so much smokier, but a poor fisher family had little choice but to be grateful for the free fuel. 

Despite the north easterly winds, it was hot walking around and bending over and lugging this basket with its increasing weight along. Anne had taken off her checkered shawl and draped it over her basket. When a sudden gust of wind hit her, it caught the shawl and blew it away, making it fly and roll across the sands. Anne instantly dropped her basket and gave chase. She couldn't afford to lose another one!

The beach amazed Mable.

There was no other word to describe what she was feeling; not one she knew, anyway.  The ocean, the water, the sand, the wind, the life.  It was like nothing the young girl had ever seen before.  She felt as though she could wander the sandy expanse for years and still learn something new about it the next day.

From where Mable sat now, she was close enough to the water to be able to clearly hear it crashing angrily against the beach, but far enough away to not risk getting wet.  Of course, this instead meant she'd be dealing with sand in her dress and shoes for the next week at least, but dirt and grime was something the girl was accustomed to.  And anyway, it was too nice out here to stay inside a second longer.

Perhaps nice wasn't the word for it.  Fresh fit better, she thought after a moment.  It was too fresh out.  It was morning time, and the world was clean after the storm, but it was still windy to display how recently it had ended.  The world was too fresh to stay inside.

Such a thing was a matter of personal opinion, of course.  Some people couldn't handle lively weather and whipping winds like this.  Not Mable of course; she thrived here, laughed as a gust blew her thick ponytail one was and then the other like a cow's tail, fisting sand and tossing it up just to watch it be stolen away and scattered.  Some people wore shawls that were entirely unnecessary, and only realized this after leaving the house and had nowhere to put the shawl in windy weather, making it all the more likely to be swiped away like the sand Mable busied herself with.

Mable watched the girl chase the shawl, enraptured by the thrill of it.  But the girl did not get the shawl back as soon as she thought she would, and the fabric kept blowing away every time the girl got just close enough to it.  Grinning, Mable stood up and ran towards the escaping shawl to aid the other girl.  Her efforts were not useless, but she was hindered slightly by giggles she could not suppress as she imagined how silly she and the girl might look to any by standers.

"Faster, faster!" she yelled happily to the other girl, "we almost had it that time!  Come on, again!"

Anne dived down. Almost caught the tip of her shawl. But the wind pulled it away just before her fingers touched the sand. She landed on her hands and knees, but immediately scrambled back up to her feet and ran after the cursed shawl. She noticed that another young girl had joined the chase, with a lighter attitude towards it than her own. Anne didn't stop to look at her or thank her. Nor did she have the time to tell the other girl that this was not a game - not that she would ever have the courage to, much as she thought it.

Finally, she managed to trap the shawl under her foot. She stooped down and picked it up. Then she turned to the young girl and observed her with a guarded look. Her accent had sounded foreign, her appearance was different than that of most people she knew. Anne gave the girl a shy smile. "Thank you," she said. She still smiled. She stared. She turned red.

Mable couldn't help a delighted shout when the other girl finally caught her shawl, but forced herself quiet under the girl's eyes.

Oh, she hoped the girl wasn't upset with her, or embarrassed.  Mable hadn't meant anything negative by coming down the beach to her, but she supposed unwanted help was always bothersome in some way.

Her worries eased when the girl thanked her, though, and Mable grinned.  It widened as she watched the girl's face color, and she couldn't help another short laugh at the sight.

"Oh, you're welcome!  I'd be sad if I just let myself watch while it blew away.  I'm a fast runner, but that thing was really goin'!  I'm Mable by the way.  It's nice to meet you."  She stuck out her hand to the girl, watching her expectantly.

Anne's timid smile widened into a more genuine one as the other girl talked and introduced herself. She struggled a little to follow what was said, the accent being more foreign to her unworldly ears than that of some of the tourists. It didn't dishearten her; rather intrigued her. She took the girl's hand and shook it. "I'm Anne. Nice to meet you," she said, less nervous now, but still with her natural bashfulness. "Where are you from?"

Mable was surprised when Anne asked where she was from, but she supposed her status as a newcomer was obvious given her accent and clothes.  She hasn't been able to afford anything new or nice or local just yet, and she wasn't insecure about her cadence.

"I'm from the United States!  Born and raised.  My brother and I just recently arrived here in Whitby!  What about you?  Have you lived here your whole life long?"

All that way! Anne couldn't help but glance down at the girl's clothes. She wasn't dressed like some of the wealthy tourists. Far from it. "Aye, I -, Oh. I have to collect my basket." She remembered. She nodded her head in that direction, but walked slowly at first to communicate an invitation to join her. "Aye. I am. What's brought ye 'ere?"

Oh, Anne's basket!  That was right, she had been collecting something along the beach in a basket before her shawl had blown away, hadn't she?  Glad to be invited along for the walk, Mable skipped beside the other girl, contemplating her question.

Usually, her brother was the first to be asked that question for the two of them, so it was exciting that Mable would be able to answer it this time - even if she wouldn't be telling the whole truth of it.

"Fate, I suppose!  My own two feet, technically, but we don't have much of a reason.  My brother and I just wanted to travel, and decided to stop here for a bit.  How about you?  To the beach, I mean.  What's the basket for?"

That perplexed her even more. She didn't look like she had the money to just decide to travel. But perhaps she was wearing old clothes not to stain her good frocks while playing at the beach. That, or she and her brother were vagrants. More likely, though why they should bother coming so far was a mystery to her.

"How d'y- oh, erm... I'm collecting driftwood." She spoke louder than she was used to, to be heard over the wind. "It's free fuel, ye see. Not as good as coal, but..." She blushed a little again. If the other girl was indeed actually rich, she felt embarrassed to admit that 'beggars can't be choosers'. "How..." did they manage to travel? "... do you like Whitby, Mi- Mable?" Was she rich? Should she call her Miss?

"Driftwood!" Mable exclaimed in wonder, looking around the beach as if seeing it for the first time.  "Oh, you're smart, Anne, I hadn't thought of that."  Back home, her and her brother would collect sticks from the land, and she supposed it should be much the same here.  She had no idea how wood managed to get on the beach from the ocean, but she wouldn't question it.

"I like Whitby very well, so far.  It's so different from my home, I'd never seen so many buildings so close together until I left."  Mable had no trouble at all speaking loud enough to be heard, and seemed to hardly notice if she had to shout over the sound of the wind.  She was more focused on turning and twirling every which way to make her skirt blow in front of her, and then behind her, and forward again.

"I grew up on a farm in Pennsylvania - or, my brother and I called it a farm at least.  We didn't have animals by the end, but we had land!  Did you know you can smell the ocean, Anne?  I suppose you would if you grew up here like you said, but in case you forget, its a strong salty smell.  You know its there no matter where in Whitby you are!  The market smells of it too, from the fish.  It's very unique!"