He kissed her. "It's going to be okay. I'll be back soon."

Helen put her hand on his face. "Not soon enough."

And she was right. Five minutes away from her side would be too long. Five minutes down to the butcher's and back was too long by hours. The six months at sea that lay ahead? Well... "No, I won't be back soon enough, but I will be rich enough. And then I can stay."

He stepped back from her and sighed. "Don't pawn the silverware unless the money runs out."

"It won't. I know my sums. There'll even be enough left to get a little polish. It'll be nice and shiny when you get back."

He smiled and kissed her again and said goodbye and turned and went onto the quay.

As he set to work, he stole glances toward the shore when he could. He took the jobs that sent him climbing high in the rigging, just so he could see it a few moments longer before it disappeared over the horizon.

It was fine weather and fine sailing. His heart ached, but there was enough work to do that he could keep from dwelling on it. The captain was mean, but he was an old enough seaman to escape the worst of it. The ship and his pockets were both empty. But soon the one would be full of oil, and the other full of gold.

A few favors and friends in good places had got him a sizable share of this trip. His father was in bad health, and with the inheritance... It was not the first time he had put out to sea and left his Helen behind, but he hoped it would be the last.

He rubbed the ring on his finger. He did every time he thought of her. No matter the weather, the metal band was as warm as she was. If he closed his eyes, it was like he hadn't left, and she was next to him, like he had never said goodbye.

The good weather did not last. It was an awful place they were headed for, Greenland. But it was where the whales and the money were.

It was three weeks in the bone-deep cold before they saw the first whale.

He watched excitedly from the deck as the others brought it in. It was a beauty: a hundred tons of meat and oil—money. Only a few days later they caught another one. He thought the ship sailed much better with her holds starting to fill up. Even the worst weather could not shake them as hard anymore.

He was in one of the boats when they went after the third whale. This one was a hard one. This one ran. He pulled hard on the oars. He was strong, he had it in his mind to row right up to whale and harpoon it, and keep going on, all the way back home.

Even when the storm started coming in, he didn't let up. It came suddenly, when they were already in open water, fair distance from the ship. There was nothing to do but make a quick job of it. He knew enough of numbers to know exactly how much this fish was worth to him.

He rowed, and the other men rowed, and the storm came. The wind roared and the waves came higher and higher.

—the boat capsized. The whale disappeared, the storm disappeared, the waves disappeared. All warmth vanished. The sea was black all around him. [i]All[/i] around him, right, left, ahead, behind, under. And above. 

He couldn't feel his legs, even as they kicked. He couldn't feel his arms as they pulled, as if he was still gripping his oar.

But there was still a weight out there. Something attached to him.

Out there, in the black water, he felt a warmth. He saw a glint of gold, of metal—better, of hair. He saw his Helen floating along with him, swimming up alongside him. Brushing his cheek with her fingers. The distance didn't matter. 
All the miles (he knew how many, once) didn't matter. That was just a label on a map, just a figure. [i]She[/i] was [i]here[/i], and so was he. He loved her like always as she faded back into the black.