The Fisherman's Son

Chapter 1

The cold wind blew down from the North and slithered into the house like a living thing. The house was gray and white and hard. It was built the old way ' stones fitted tightly together to form a barrier against the outside world.
The front yard was dead now. Brittle brown stems that had once been grass littered the sandy soil. Ocean waves crashed against the monolithic rocks guarding the coastline.

The cold wind entered the house through crevices and invisible openings. It wrapped its icy fingers around the throat of the dying woman. Robyn shivered and moaned and tried weakly to pull the white fleece blanket more tightly around her. The fleece slipped from her fingers. Robyn ' s body burned with fever like a lamp burning oil, but this only made her feel colder against the frigid air.
Wiley looked at his mother ' s red hair spread out across her pillow. He heard her moan and ran to cover her. He wrapped the fleece blanket around her shoulders and told her he loved her. Then he walked over to the large stone fireplace made from the same gray and white stone as the house and pushed the logs around to uncover the flame. He took the bellows down off the wall and blew life into the fire.
"Boy, what are you doing " Wiley ' s father slammed his glass of whiskey down onto the wooden table, spilling most of it. The wasted brown liquor splashing onto his hand made him furious. "Now, look what you made me do! I can ' t afford to waste this stuff! What d ' ya think I ' m made out of Money "
Wiley looked up at his father. Without really thinking about it, he gauged how long he had until his father reached his side of the room. Vail O ' Mara was a tall, sinewy man. His body had been hardened and turned the color of dirt through long, hard years as a fisherman. His face was long, thin and leathery. There were lines etched into his weathered skin around his eyes, across his forehead and down his long, thin cheeks.
Vail ' s dark brown eyes were glazed by alcohol. He wore an old suede cap only slightly lighter in shade than the dark brown hair it covered. He wore a coat to match the cap. It was dirty and at least one size too big for him. Wiley had often wondered why his father did that, bought clothes slightly too large for himself. The youngest of ten children from a poor family, surely he didn ' t think he would still outgrow his clothes if he bought them the right size.
"What a ' ya lookin ' at, boy " Wiley ' s father threw his glass of whiskey against the hard, cold wall of the house. Enraged that he had spilled the whiskey and broken the glass, Vail O ' Mara took three huge steps toward his son. Then, in his drunken state, he tripped over the leg of a chair and passed out.
Wiley put his cheek next to his father ' s mouth to see if he was still breathing. A small cloud of whiskey breath wafted up the young boy ' s nose. Offended by the smell and relieved that his father was alive, Wiley went over to tend to his mother. He made her sit up. Supporting her in his arms, he made her drink water. The doctor had left strict instructions that his mother must drink water even though she did not want it. Otherwise, the fever would consume her and take her life.