It was still clear and calm when Martha tiptoed out, a beautiful night, so she didn’t bother putting on her father’s heavy jacket, just the rubber boots with her dressing gown. She untwisted her net from between the rocks and sang along with the mermaid as the wind picked up and grew strange.

It was a backward wind, so the more it picked up, the harder it was to hear the mermaid’s singing; Martha sang louder to try to encourage it, to try to give it something to latch on to. Maybe it would recognize her voice. Know where to find her.

When the wind blows we’re all together

The wind grew and grew and whistled and howled as it passed through the cracks in the rocks around her. It was getting colder, but she didn’t want to walk back up to her house to get a coat; if she let go of the tiny bit of song she could still hear she might not find it again. Instead, she wrapped herself into her net to keep warm, with just the end free to work on. And she kept singing.

Windy weather boys, stormy weather, boys

By the time the rain came, all at once like from a bucket, her fingers were too cold to work the needle properly and she had to stop. The wind whipped her wet hair into her mouth and she had to keep spitting it out to sing.