The fishers watch her, but they’d never admit that, even if they were caught in the act. It’s too extraordinary for a girl to fish for a living; it’s uncomely and bad luck to fish with a woman so near, especially an unwed girl of twenty. To men diminished and brittle from long days and sore bones, her presence is a nuisance, so her abundant catches and exquisitely hand-crafted lures are hastily dismissed. Hints of witchcraft flit across their lips in whispers; suspicious good fortune and uncanny knowing of where and when to fish, especially by a girl-fisher, must have other-worldly explanations. It’s a good thing men are brave; otherwise, they’d be frightened by the wild, free, careless, fearless, cunning creature they saw in Magda. “Nobody’s gonna help you out here,” one said. “When ya gonna settle down and become a proper wife?” asked another. “If anybody’d have her,” said a third, thinking she was out of earshot. But Magda noticed and heard and felt every admonition, scolding, sideways glance, and furrowed brow. Any dangers …