Deborah Gould

Deborah Gould grew up in Maine. She has worked as an editorial assistant, then, in turn, worked on a dairy farm, in printing and graphic arts, and in educational interpreting and English language acquisition for students with cochlear implants.

Her first novel, Household, has just been published by Reck House.

You can learn more about this author by visiting her personal website.

Fishing (from Words on Wednesday Night):

Nana took us all fishing after supper.

I was old enough to fish the outer length of the dock with Martha, John, and Peter, so I must have been about ten; Sarah and Andrew were nearer the shore with short, stubby poles and the worst of the worms.

The seminarians were singing evensong, do you remember? Ubi caritas, and their voices spread across the lake like blessings. Mount Monadnock was black at darkfall.

Perch leaped and danced like promises over the water; dragonflies skimmed by – we clamped our lips tight as traps (“They’ll sew your mouths shut if you tell a lie,” our parents warned). I remember the feel of the rod in my hands, the tug in my heart and my fingers. Then, too, the hollow thudding of the perch on the dock, my hook shining in its gaping, frantic mouth as it prayed for air.

Horrified, I turned to Nana, pressed hard against her side – face, breath, rod, tangled line.

“I will always be here for you,” she said.

 

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