by Erica Vetsch
Nick forced himself to concentrate on the story. He’d look a fool if someone asked him about the plot right now. Annie had a gift, a real gift, for bringing a story to life. In spite of the distractions, he found himself drawn into the tale.
Ezra stomped into the room, breaking the mood.
Nick rose at the expression on Ezra’s face.
“There’s a ferry off the east side of the island. I could just make it out with the glasses. They’re signaling distress. I think they’ve struck the submerged rocks out there near the bell buoy. We’ll have to launch the boat and help them.”
Nick nodded. “I’ll take Clyde and go. Ezra, you and Annie get down to the dock with blankets. Imogen, get a fire going. There may be injuries.” He barely noticed that he’d taken charge of the situation, usurping the authority that rightfully belonged to Ezra. Getting to a wounded vessel quickly meant saving lives.
Clyde sprinted down the dark path through the trees to the dock. Nick followed quickly, picking his way in the lantern light. By the time he reached the dock, Clyde had the canvas tarp off the boat and was loading in the oars.
Nick joined him in the rocking craft. He fastened the lantern to the pole in the stern and sat at the tiller. “Row hard, boy. I’ll relieve you when you tire.”
Clyde fixed the oars in the oarlocks and bent his back to the task.
Nick leaned on the tiller, curving the boat around the north end of the island. Once free of the shielding cliff, the bleat of the ship’s horn reached them. Above that, faintly, the clang of the bell buoy kept time with the waves.
How had a ferry ended up on the east side of the island? Every lake captain knew of the dangers of the razor-sharp shoals there. All traffic larger than a canoe passed to the west side of Sutton Island.
Fine mist sprayed Nick each time the bow dipped into a trough.
Clyde grunted with effort, but his stroke remained smooth.
“Where’d you learn to row like this?” Nick raised his voice to be heard.
“Father was a lifesaver off the coast of Cape Cod before we moved west.” Clyde’s teeth gleamed white in the moonlight. “Been rowing since I was a little gupper.”
Nick marveled at how God worked, bringing the right people to the right place at the right time. Please, Lord, let us get to the boat in time.
From a hundred yards away the ferry’s lights flickered on the water. People crowded the deck, shouting. The ship listed hard to port.
Nick caught the tang of smoke in the air from the twin stacks far overhead. He leaned harder on the tiller, and the boat swung around and bumped into the starboard side of the ferry. He read the name Olivia Star on the side wheel of the boat.
People rushed forward.
“Hold there!” Nick shouted. “Women and children first. We’ll take as many as we can each trip.”
Heedless of his words, a wall of humanity surged toward the small craft. One man missed his footing and shot out into the air, landing in the water with a yelp.
When he surfaced, Nick leaned out of the boat and grabbed him by the collar. He dragged the man around the rowboat toward the ferry. “Get up there and wait your turn.”
Clyde lifted a child of about six or seven into the boat then reached up for another. “Here you go, lassie. A ride in my nice boat. You sit still, and we’ll have you to land in a jiffy.” His matter-of-fact voice seemed to calm the children. They huddled together on the seat, eyes wide, but not crying.
“Where’s the captain?” Nick scanned the crowd for anyone in authority. “How many passengers are aboard?”
A deckhand in a dirty uniform leaned over the rail. “There’s sixteen passengers and eight crew, counting the captain.”
“Any injuries?”
“Beyond a few cuts and bruises, I don’t think so.”
Clyde continued to load passengers until the gunwales dipped toward the water. “This is all we can take this load. We’ll be back.”
On the return trip, Nick gave the tiller over to a white-faced woman and grasped a pair of oars. Rowing in such a crowd proved difficult, but it hastened their speed.
The water grew choppy when they rounded the west side of the island. “Bail!” Nick’s jaw tightened. Waves lapped over the sides of the overloaded boat. “Bail!”
Passengers cupped their hands, throwing the water overboard. One woman removed her hat and used it as a bucket, shoving, pushing, tossing water out.
Relief swamped Nick as the dock came into sight. Annie and Ezra held lanterns high, Ezra out on the end of the dock, Annie on the shore. Nick and Clyde handed passengers up as quickly as they could and started back around the island for another load.
The second return trip was faster, as the passengers were mostly male. The boat could hold fewer of them, but they helped row and bail. On the final trip out to the damaged steamer, nearing exhaustion, Nick and Clyde picked up the last remaining crew members, the first officer, and the captain.
The Olivia Star listed farther in the water, her lowest deck now awash. She seemed to have run aground on a single sharp point of rock, tottering and balancing, sliding ever lower as she took on water.
A crew member dumped the captain, a limp tangle of arms and legs in a dark suit, into the bottom of the rowboat. The captain lolled beneath the seats, a livid bruise darkening half his face, a trickle of blood oozing from the corner of his mouth. He mumbled but didn’t open his eyes.
“Was he injured in the wreck?” Clyde eased the man’s arms aside so he could brace himself at the oars.
The first officer grunted and rolled his eyes. He held his ribs with one arm across his middle, his face ashen. None of the other crewmen said a word.
“You hurt?” Nick steadied the man, placing his hand on the officer’s shoulder.
“Ribs.”
“Well, rest easy now. We’ll have you on shore in no time. Somebody hold this tiller.”
Though his arms resembled lake kelp, Nick took up the oars again. Several spots on his fingers and palms burned. He’d have blisters by morning, no doubt.
The rising wind worked against them, blowing against their backs, bucking the small craft.
At last they reached the dock again. Ezra leaned down to pull them up from the boat.
Nick grasped his hand gratefully. “That’s all of them. The ship’s listing bad, but it’s perched on a submerged rock. If it doesn’t take on too much water and slide off whatever it’s grounded on, it might be salvageable.” Like the Bethany. Nick leaned against the dock piling, wrapping the bowline of the rowboat securely. The thought jabbed him like a poke in the eye.
Annie stood at the far end of the dock. Why didn’t she come out?
He beckoned to her, but she shook her head, her face ghostly in the light of the lantern she held up to guide the refugees toward the path. He staggered toward her, body screaming from the rescue efforts.
When he got close, she bit her lip, tears wetting her cheeks. “You’re all right? You got everyone?”
“We got everyone.” He gave in to the urge and put his arm around her shoulders, hugging her into his side. “Nice to know someone was here worrying about us.”
She stayed in his embrace a moment then seemed to collect herself.
He dropped his arm from around her and stepped back, wondering if he had offended her with his familiarity.
“I’m glad you’re all right. I prayed for you as hard as I could.” She brushed her skirts and ducked her head. “We’d best get up the hill and help Imogen. I don’t know where we’re going to put all these people.”
He took the lantern and offered her his arm for the hike up the hill.
The smell of damp wool and coffee hit Annie in the face when she walked into the kitchen. Woebegone looks greeted her. People huddled near the stove, and Imogen filled cups. A kettle whistled.
“I’ll take that.” Annie lifted the coffeepot from Imogen’s hands. She bent her head to whisper in Imogen’s ear, “What are we going to do? Where can we put s
o many people?”
“We’ll manage, dear. They’ll have to sleep on the floor, that’s all. It’s how we’re going to feed them that has me praying.” Imogen patted Annie’s hand. “God will figure things out. He hasn’t failed us yet.”
Annie shook her head, smiling. God was going to have to figure things out, because Annie was fresh out of ideas. If she fed them any of her own cooking, they’d likely take to the lake and try to swim to shore just to escape.
Imogen tore up a bed sheet and Annie helped her wrap the ribs of the first officer. That man, clammy and gray, they put on the sofa, propped up with plenty of pillows. He thanked them over and over in a shallow, breathy voice. Imogen dosed him with tea and a bit of laudanum from the medical kit, and he drifted off to sleep moments later.
The captain proved a more difficult patient. He mumbled and thrashed, face screwed up in a thundercloud grimace. Annie tried to hold a cold compress to his bruised head, but he kept swatting her away. He reeked of a most foul odor, one Annie couldn’t place. Obviously the smack on the head had disoriented the man to the point of delirium. He finally subsided in Imogen’s rocker, so Annie left him there, snoring like a fog signal.
Clyde and Nick got most of the men bedded down in the assistant keepers’ quarters. Three had to settle for pallets on the parlor floor in the main house. Annie gave up her room to a mother and her two small daughters and moved in with Imogen. Nick, Clyde, and Ezra would take turns sleeping on a cot in the fog-house.
By the time everyone was settled for the night, the clock struck two. Annie dragged herself up the stairs. Her hair had long since given up staying in its knot. She flipped it back over her shoulder with a tired hand. Breakfast for thirty? It didn’t bear thinking about.
She shrugged into her nightgown, keeping the lamp low in deference to Imogen, who was already asleep. Annie slipped between the sheets, not bothering to braid her hair for the night. She’d battle the snarls in the morning. If she wasn’t so tired, she’d take the time to examine just how relieved she was to see Nick come back safe and sound … that and how wonderful his embrace had been.
twelve
God proved Himself trustworthy again the next morning. One of the women rescued from the ferry was the ship’s cook. She took over the kitchen, fixing breakfast for thirty without displaying any of the panic Annie would’ve felt. Annie turned the entire operation over to the five women from the ship and concentrated on caring for Imogen, who once more found herself victim of a sick headache.
The children, the most resilient of the group, bounced outside to explore the moment they were excused from the table. Annie took one look at the overloaded dishpan and blew out a breath, fanning wisps of hair off her forehead. She needn’t have worried. The women were more than willing to pitch in and help. Annie left them to it and went into the parlor to check on the two wounded men.
How Hazel would laugh to see Annie now, changing bed linens, administering medicine, acting the hostess for two dozen unexpected guests. Annie, who had never cooked, cleaned, or cared for her own clothing. Hazel would hardly know her. Annie hardly knew herself.
She opened the drapes a crack, saw that the man on the sofa was awake, and pulled them a bit wider. Sunlight streamed in, tracking across the polished maple floor, picking out motes in the air. “How are you feeling?” She pulled the blanket higher around the injured man.
He tried to speak, but only a croak came out.
Annie helped him sit a little straighter and held a glass of water to his cracked lips.
“My name is Saunders. Jared Saunders.” He hugged his ribs, his lips tight. “Thank you for all you are doing. Are the passengers all right?”
Annie nodded, twisting her hands in her apron. “They’re fine. Everyone’s breakfasted but you two.” She gestured to the captain, sagging in the rocker, face slack. “Would you like me to bring you some food?”
He shook his head, throwing a look of disgust toward the captain. “No, I couldn’t eat a thing. Perhaps some coffee?”
“Coffee it is. What about the captain? Should I wake him?”
“I wouldn’t advise it.” Saunders’s voice held a dry irony.
The captain must not be a morning person. She’d let him sleep. After the trauma last night, sleep was probably the best thing for him.
She whirled to go back to the kitchen, colliding with Nick in the doorway. His hands came up and cupped her shoulders, turning her insides to water. She hadn’t seen him since last night. He’d had the early watch in the tower. Shadows clouded his blue eyes. No wonder, with the rescue and then having to stand watch.
“Nick, good morning.” Did that sound as breathless as she felt?
“Good morning, Annie. How are your patients?” He backed up a step and dropped his hands to his sides. A faint bristle of whiskers covered his unshaven cheeks, and tired lines spidered out from the corners of his eyes.
“Mr. Saunders asked for a cup of coffee. I haven’t checked on the captain yet. He seems to be sleeping quite soundly.”
Nick bent over the captain, scrutinizing the bruise on the man’s temple. He sniffed, frowned, and then poked the man in the shoulder. “Quite soundly.” Nick’s voice held a strange tightness.
“Come into the kitchen and I’ll get you breakfast.” She laughed. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t cooked by me. It will be quite edible, I assure you.” She turned to Saunders. “I’ll be right back with your coffee.”
Nick followed Annie into the kitchen. Women washed and wiped plates, carrying them into the pantry, bustling back out, chattering. He’d come through the front door of the house, hoping to catch Ezra alone in his office and avoid talking to anyone else until he spoke with his boss.
“There he is.” One of the women, tall, with wiry red hair, rushed over to him and wrung his hand. “We want to thank you for saving us last night. I don’t know what would’ve become of us if you hadn’t come along.” The women crowded around him, professing their gratitude, some wiping tears. One even kissed his cheek.
Annie caught his eye, obviously enjoying his embarrassment. She filled a coffee cup and went back into the parlor.
All the while, anger simmered in his gut. Last night had been too fraught with danger and exertion to be sure, but one look at the captain this morning had confirmed Nick’s suspicions. He had to talk to Ezra.
The tall redhead pushed him down into a chair and plunked a bowl of steaming oatmeal in front of him. “Now, you eat up, Mr. Kennedy. There’s plenty more where that came from.”
Nick reached for a biscuit in the basket on the table, broke it open, and spread it with jam. He bit into it. It was good, but nothing like his Annie’s biscuits. He stopped chewing. His Annie?
As if his thoughts conjured her up, she came back into the kitchen. He rose. “Have you seen Ezra?”
“Sit down, please. He and Clyde went to the east side of the island to look at the ferry awhile ago. He said they’d be back shortly.”
Nick nodded. He finished the biscuit, ate a few bites of the oatmeal to be polite, and then stood. Before he could wend his way through the women, Ezra opened the back porch door and stepped in.
“The ferry survived, still perched on that rock. She’s about a hundred yards east of the bell buoy. Looks like she might’ve run smack over it, the way it’s bent. Someone will need to get out there and repair that buoy before too long.”
“Can you come into the parlor?” Nick jerked his head toward the door.
Annie took up the coffeepot and headed into the parlor just ahead of them. She filled Saunder’s cup again then picked up the bottle of laudanum from the end table.
Nick waited until she’d given the man a dose. “Annie, if you don’t mind, I need to speak to—”
Nick’s words were cut off by a growl from the captain. He stirred in his chair like a bear waking from hibernation, gripped his temples between his meaty paws, and groaned. “It hurts.”
Annie darted to his side and knelt down. “Don’t try to mov
e, sir. You’ve had quite a knock on the head. I’ll get you a headache powder right away.”
Nick took hold of Annie’s arm and lifted her out of the way. “Don’t bring him anything.” His voice was sharper than he’d intended.
Her eyes widened, and she looked down at his grip on her elbow.
His hand fell away. “I’m sorry. I need to speak to the captain before you give him any medicine.”
Saunders propped himself up on his elbows. “His name is—”
“I don’t care what his name is. To me, he’s just another bottom feeder.” Nick hauled the captain up by his lapels. He sniffed. Alcoholic fumes emanated from the man to the point Nick thought the captain might burst into flames if he got too near a candle. “You’re drunk.”
“Leave me alone.” The captain’s words slurred. His eyes looked terrible, bloodshot, with pinprick pupils.
“Were you manning the pilothouse when the ship went aground?” Nick glared at the sodden excuse for a lake captain. When the man didn’t answer, Nick turned to the injured officer on the sofa.
Saunders lay back, eyes closed to mere slits. He nodded. “Captain had the wheel. Threw us all out of the pilothouse just after sundown. I went below to talk to the crew. The captain had been drinking off and on all day.”
“And you let him take the wheel?”
Saunders gave a low chuckle then groaned and held his ribs, panting in shallow puffs. His face twisted in a wry grimace, half pain, half shame. “He used considerable force. He’s a brute when he’s drinking. I didn’t get these bad ribs in the wreck. He tossed me out of the pilothouse like a piece of driftwood. I hit against the rail. Lucky I didn’t go over into the water. I made it down to the engine room, barely. We were discussing a mutiny when the ferry ran aground.”
The captain wavered on unsteady legs. “A mutiny? I’ll have your liver, you two-faced coyote.” He clutched his head again, his complexion turning gray-green. “Where’s my whiskey?”
