It was early April of 1937 and  a cold northeast wind swept along the rocky shores of  the South East coast of Newfoundland, coupled with a steady downpour of rain that had been falling unrelentingly for three days.  Tucked away in a great bay was the Island of pigeons and the community of Strickland Bight, boasting a population of eleven families and 89 souls. “Aunt” Martha Styles, as she was known to everyone in the tiny outport, had risen early that morning with a feeling of apprehension. She had known that dread before, and always before a calamity had befallen someone in the bight. Not wanting to upset her pregnant daughter with whom she had lived since the death of her husband  the previous Fall, she tried to appear calm as she came downstairs and took her place at the kitchen table. “Good morning Gran”, chimed the four year old twins Obadiah  and Jonathan, looking up from playing with the small wooden boats that their grandfather had carved for them just weeks before his death. “Good morning boys”, smiled their grandmother thinking of the hours her husband had spent carefully carving each of these boats, resting only when his arthritic hands could take no more. Her daughter Ada was baking bread and there were toutons  with black molasses for breakfast.  Martha, who had always loved the fried dough left over from that used for the bread, ate heartily despite her gloomy thoughts.

Martha had always wondered why she had these premonitions if there was nothing that she could do to stop the upcoming disaster. “Lord“, she prayed silently, “if someone up there is trying to tell me something, let me know what I can do.” It may have been her imagination, but suddenly she felt better, as if a load had been lifted from her shoulders. As morning turned to afternoon and evening, the howling wind gave way to a slight breeze and the rain to a drizzle. Ada had prepared a salt beef and vegetable stew for supper and as her husband Sam was finishing his meal, he suggested that they ask Fred and Ethel over for a game of cards. “This may be the last time we’ll get to play before the fishin’ season starts, everyone has their lobster pots ready now“.  Ada agreed, Fred Andrews had come to the tiny community to teach school fourteen years earlier and married Sam’s sister Ethel. They lived at the bottom of a hill at the end of the row of houses that made up the small  town. “I’ll have Roger tell them to come over, he’s still playing with Frank next door but will be going home any minute now”.  “Tell them to bring Roger with them” Martha suddenly blurted out, almost it seemed without thinking.  Sam gave  her a quizzical look, “now Gran” he said using his children’s term for his mother-in-law, “Roger’s almost thirteen now, he won’t be wanting to follow his parents around, besides what will he do here“? Martha, although not sure why she made the suggestion in the first place wasn’t about to give up now. “ I’m sure Jim and Ida won’t mind if Frank comes over, they can play checkers on the little table in the spare room upstairs”.  Ada nodded, “ You’re right mom, the boys would probably enjoy that”. Sam smiled as he went through the door, “okay I’ll tell them now, before Roger leaves“.