The doctor became animated. “2011. You are from the future. Perhaps, the lightning changed the continuum of time. What a wondrous discovery. You must tell me more.”
“Moody knocked her senseless.” Harlan circled his temples with his fingers.
“I am telling the truth. Something went wrong ... my car spun and the lightning hit ... and I am here. Can you send me back?” She grabbed the doctor’s sleeve with desperation in her voice.
“I do not know, child.” Gilroy tapped his chin. “I suppose I must find more spoons. Surely, they will have some in New Providence.”
Lesley dropped her hand from his sleeve. “I think it will take more than spoons to send me back.”
“Yes, yes. The process must be reversed. I will have to ponder this.” The doctor’s brow furrowed. “But for now, you should rest. We will have more time to discuss your situation once we arrive in New Providence.” He unlatched the door and went out.
Harlan firmly fastened the latch once more. He would need to use extreme care from now on.
An unusual flash of warmth came from the pocket against his hip. He shoved his hand into it and just as quickly recoiled from the heat emanating from the wooden pony. Grabbing a neckerchief, he wrapped it around the toy and drew it out.
The small wooden toy gleamed brightly in the dim cabin. His heart constricted in horror.
A gasp came from Lesley. She reached out for it. “My little toy horse. I was holding it when ... and you’ve found it.”
He did not hand it over. “It is not yours. I carved this for my son. Where did you get it? What curse have you whispered that causes it to gleam?”
“You carved it?”
Carefully, he used the neckerchief to turn it around so he could show the initials to her. “My son’s name was Josiah. Where did you find it? Why did you have it with you?” He ground out each question. He would not abide by any falsehoods.
“I bought a cradle at an antique shop on Route 13—on the Delmarva peninsula. I had wanted a child for so long ... and Jim ... well, he had his baby in the marina—a boat. He wanted nothing to do with children. Anyhow, when I brought the cradle home I found the horse inside, wrapped in the quilt.”
As usual, he understood very few of her words, but a deep sadness lingered in her tone and touched a chord within him. He sensed she had been truthful.
“My son ... he was a great joy to me.” As he said the words, the pony cooled in his hand. He caressed it with his fingers, but it brought back all the sad memories with it and he could barely contain his emotions as the sweet face of his son misted his eyes.
He handed the toy to her.
“Do you suppose I wound up here because I was carrying this?”
“Are you related to Elsbeth?”
“Who?”
“My wife.”
“The one who died?”
“You bear a remarkable resemblance to her.”
“How could I possibly be related to someone who died in the 1700s?” She clutched the pony to her chest. “And for your information, nobody names their kid Elsbeth anymore in 2011.”
“I do not believe you come from 2011.” Had he been wrong about her mental acuity? Or had Moody’s blow caused this strange talk?
“Fine. Believe what you want. I would like to believe I’m not here, but the situation isn’t looking promising. I hoped this would turn out to be a bad nightmare.”
“What am I to do with you?” He paced the floor again and stopped in front of the mirror. It gave him an idea. “Once we reach New Providence, I will find a position for you. You could be a ladies maid.”
Despite her swollen and bruised face, he could tell by the set of her mouth that she did not appreciate his suggestion.
“I’m smart. College-educated. I am not going to be somebody’s maid. Drop me off in New York City. I should be able to do something useful there. Have pills been invented yet?”
Harlan turned and glared at her. “You should go back to Jim. That’s where you belong.”
“For your information, Jim is not a gentleman. He’s abusive. It took me a while to get up the courage to tell him to get lost, but—aside from the fact that he is 300 years in the future—there’s no way in hell I would ever marry the guy. He only wants my money to keep him in the style he is not accustomed to.”
“You are wealthy?” He had suspected as much from the first due to her obvious health. He could request a ransom for her return.
“I make a very nice salary as a pharmaceutical rep. I have a condo, a luxury sedan—well, I had a luxury sedan. I don’t know what shape it’s in now.”
He narrowed his eyes at the hitch in her voice. She could sound as tough as any sailor, but beneath the surface lay the roiling emotions of loss—something he understood only too well. Pain still gnawed at his gut—after seven years.
“I guess I should be glad I’m not dead—unless, of course, this is hell.” Touching the side of her face, she winced. “By the way, you’ve said I resemble your dead wife. Odd thing is, you resemble Jim—only you are in much better shape.”
Her gaze went to his crotch and a new fire started up inside him, one that had nothing to do with loss.
The best thing he could do was get rid of her. However, at the moment he could only think of how it felt to hold her in his arms, but therein lay true madness.
He made for the door. “Bolt this after me. Do not let anyone in and do not leave the cabin.” He took in a deep breath and fought his inclinations.
“But ... Moody will get back at you. You won’t be safe. He wants revenge.”
“I will not be a prisoner on my own ship. Bolt the door.” He walked out and waited until he heard her fingers fumble with the bolt.
On the poop deck, all appeared quiet and orderly. The watches had been posted and carried out their duties. The helmsman held the course with steady hands. Though the Lyrical lay low in the water, with the new sail and the stiff wind filling the canvas it would not take long to reach New Providence.
He missed the weight of the wooden toy in his pocket, but he sensed it would be safe with Lesley. Joy lit her expression when he revealed it to her.
The small pony had filled him with hope when he carved it. Each day on his long voyage, he had whittled away the excess and discovered the prize beneath. After devoting such a great deal of time to the small object, he believed he imbued it with the essence of his own soul. It became more than a gift. He filled it with the promise of a glorious future for his son. His pride in the boy knew no bounds.
When he returned home, Josiah had been delighted with the toy. However, out of necessity, Harlan had to return to sea. He spent very little time with his wife and son.
Then he had been marooned along with his captain. By the time he finally returned home everything had changed.
It hurt to recall those times, but he forced himself to try and remember what had happened to the toy pony. Mentally, he struggled with every detail of that dreadful period. Had he thrown the pony away? Had he given it to another child?
Wrapped up in his dark thoughts, he neglected to scan the deck in his usual manner. He had been staring out at the rolling waves and seeing nothing but the sad images of the past in his mind. When he finally looked up and glanced about, he realized the watches had disappeared. A sudden movement arrested his attention and he cast his dismal musings to the back of his mind.
Down in the waist, in the deep shadow of one of the boats, two men huddled together. Were the watches ignoring their duties? Intuition warned him that something was afoot—and it boded ill.
Silently, he moved toward them. Engrossed in whispering to each other, they did not notice his approach. He caught but a few words of their murmured plot for the wind blew most of their hurried conversation into the sea. However, he could not mistake the rumblings of mutiny.
He drew his pistols and cocked them. At that sound, the men jumped apart. Each held a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other.
He rec
ognized them in the dim light from the moon. These were not the men who were supposed to be on watch. Aloysius Meeker glared at him, which did not surprise him. The man groused most of the time. He had become the most onerous malcontent in the foc’sle.
The other conspirator surprised him for he had trusted Woodrow Hooper, the quartermaster. True, the man ruled those beneath him with fear, but in a battle he fought with skill and daring. He was not the type of man to back down in any situation.
Steeling himself, Harlan calmly recited the words of the articles they had signed which pertained to the situation at hand.
Aloysius interrupted. “We have nothing to show for all the roaming we do. We have bad food and bad water.”
“You’ve had your fill of rum.” Harlan reminded. “And so far, you have your life, though that matter could change at any moment.”
Aloysius snarled. “And who will help ‘ye? Ye’ve no friends on this ship.”
“I need no friends.” Harlan admitted to himself that having someone else beside him to even the odds would be appreciated. He wondered what had happened to those who had been on watch. Were they part of this conspiracy? “I was elected to my current position by a vote from the men—all of them are aware I am well-acquainted with navigation.”
“The first mate is as knowledgeable,” the quartermaster growled.
“If there is a dispute about who should be captain, we shall call together the crew and all may cast their vote.” Harlan hoped these were the only two involved in this conspiracy, but he could not count on that. He wondered if Moody had set them up.
“You should never have become captain!” Hooper shouted.
“Did you vote against me then?” Harlan caught a movement from the corner of his eye in the distance. His opponents did not appear to notice what he had seen, but he hoped they did not have another disgruntled jack ready to join their side.
Hooper growled. “I could see what you were with your fine airs. We do not own any allegiance to England. We are not fighting for them. We can take any ship we choose and we will—without you!” Hooper leveled his pistol at Harlan’s heart. Aloysius followed suit.
At that point, he heard a scream which shook the rigid steel in his nerves. Lesley had disobeyed his orders and now placed herself in far worse trouble. However, though sweat trickled down his back, he did not move a muscle but the two men looked upward toward the quarterdeck.
In that brief moment of inattention, he shot the pistols out of his opponents’ hands. That stopped them for a few seconds but then they ran at him with their knives. He kicked Aloysius out of the way, but as he bent to pull his own dirk from his boot, Hooper slashed his arm.
“This is far better than voting.” Hooper crowed as he drew back his knife for the final lunge to Harlan’s heart.
Chapter Seven
Lesley had stood by the door after bolting it. Drumming her fingers against the latch, she knew the captain would have a conniption if she disobeyed him. Besides, staying in the cabin with the bolt on the door made a lot of sense. Otherwise, she might meet up with that dirt bag, Moody, again. She shuddered at the thought. Destined to become the pirate who gave no quarter, he might have killed her tonight but the captain had saved her.
She did not doubt Moody would seek revenge—and soon. She refused to allow the captain to become Moody’s next victim because of her. As much as she feared the vile first mate, she had a responsibility to ensure the captain’s safety. She had few friends on this boat and even if the captain suspected her of witchcraft, he evidently intended to keep her alive.
Wavering for a few minutes, she glanced at the weapons in the cabin. She could not handle a sword. Loading a pistol or a musket with gunpowder seemed a tricky business—plus each gun only held one bullet. To use an ax, she would have to get close to her nemesis, which would make it easy for him to overpower her. Using an ax would be a bloody business and she had seen enough blood on this ship already.
Selecting a pike from the arsenal, she decided it would have to do.
Unlatching the door, she scurried from shadow to shadow until she hid behind a cannon in a dark corner on the quarterdeck just above the waist. From there she had a sweeping view of the boat. She saw the captain on the poop deck, leaning on the rail and gazing outward. Though relieved to see him safe, she had no idea where Moody might be at the moment. Most likely, he had already planned some dastardly act of retaliation. The creepy slime ball.
She intended to stay alert but her eyes threatened to close. She nodded off and only awoke when she bumped her sore and swollen face on the cannon.
The violent oaths of a loud argument came to her from below by one of the boats. Daring to peer down into the waist, she saw the captain with his guns aimed at Aloysius and the quartermaster. She chilled when she realized they also had their guns aimed at him.
In a panic, she glanced around but saw no one else on board except the helmsman, an odd situation because other men should be posted on watch. Dammit. 911 hadn’t been invented yet.
Her mouth grew as dry as the Sahara when she remembered the mutinous words of Aloysius as he worked beside her putting up the new sail. Join me, lad, and we’ll take over this ship.
How many in the crew had decided to go along with him? Would the captain have to walk the plank? Her blood drained to her feet.
If she ran below to find the doctor and get help, it would take too long.
Frozen in place, she listened to the bitter taunts thrown at the captain. His voice remained calm but embedded with a sharp edge. Despite the warning in his tone, the other men’s shouts escalated into vehement hatred.
Frightened by the threats, she screamed. “Stop it! Help! Somebody help!”
The two men glanced up at her. When they did, the captain shot the guns from their hands. That did not deter them for more than a few seconds. They ran at the captain brandishing their knives.
“Help!” Lesley’s heart pounded as if it would explode. No one came to their aid. The deck appeared as vacant as a beach after Labor Day.
“Bastards,” she swore.
Meanwhile, the captain kicked Aloysius away so hard the man hit his head on the edge of a railing and fell unconscious. When the captain bent to reach for the knife in his boot, Hooper lunged forward. The captain put his arm up to ward off the blow, but Hooper’s knife dug into the flesh. Blood spurted out. From the looks of it, he’d hit an artery.
Hooper drew back with an evil smile and made ready to deal another blow with more force than the last, right to the heart.
“Damned cretin!” Lesley leaped down into the waist and clobbered Hooper as hard as she could with the end of the pike. The knife dropped from his hand and he wobbled about for a bit in a drunken way before he crashed to the deck.
“The bigger they are, the harder they fall,” she quipped as she whipped off her neckerchief and pressed it to the captain’s arm with all the force she could muster despite her trembling limbs.
“Let it be,” he insisted and waved his good hand to shoo her away.
“Hold still. I’ve got to stop the bleeding.”
“I told you to stay in the cabin,” he grumbled.
“I thought you were a bit shortsighted. I wasn’t going to let someone poke holes in you after you saved my sorry ass from your perverted first mate.”
“They planned a mutiny. There may be others involved. You could be in grave danger.”
“Like you aren’t? You probably lost a pint of blood already.”
“Where are the men who are supposed to be on watch? They could be a part of the plan.”
“It is strange they are not at their posts.”
The doctor came running. “I knew there was trouble. The men on watch were brought down to orlop deck unconscious, without any explanation.”
“Didn’t anybody hear me scream?” she asked.
“Aye, there was some silly nonsense about a ghost being on board.” The doctor moved to take Lesley’s hand away, but she would not l
et go and only pressed harder.
“Hooper hit one of the captain’s arteries. If I let go, the captain will bleed out in seconds.” Actually, she no idea how long it would take, but she could not risk it. There’s something she should have studied with more diligence. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t get into med school. Tears welled up in her eyes. Now, when she really needed the knowledge, she had no way to retrieve it. She could rattle off the names of the latest pills for heartburn, cholesterol, and depression—but the ability to patch a severed artery would be a far better skill.
She should have learned how to sew.
“Tie those men up, Gilly. Then you can put in your blasted stitches.” The captain’s voice faded.
The doctor found several lengths of rope and went right to work tying up the unconscious men. “Aloysius has been a troublemaker from the start. I hope you’ll be leaving him in New Providence.”
“Anybody who smells that bad should never be allowed on a ship.” Lesley noted.
The captain gave a weak chuckle. “I shall have you help me choose the men for the next voyage. Perhaps you will be a better judge of character than I.”
“I don’t know anything about fighting. I hit Hooper on the head in sheer desperation. I didn’t want to poke a hole in him with the end of the pike. That would be murder.” Of course, sometimes people died from a blow to the head, too. She bit her lip and hoped that Hooper would wake up—after the ropes had been knotted tightly.
“I never thought Hooper the kind of man who would start a mutiny,” the doctor commented.
“There are a bunch of greedy, perverted bastards on this ship. You should hang out with a better crowd, take up a different profession and rub shoulders with the right people.” Lesley pleaded. “I’m sure you could find something less—less dangerous. Less bloody. Less wicked. Pirating is a criminal offense.”
The captain directed a frown at her capable of putting a lesser woman, or cabin boy, in his or her place. However, Lesley had seen the same type of furrowed brow from some physicians. Yes, some doctors tried to put her in her place. She was, after all, merely a pharmaceutical rep—not a pharmacist, or a nurse. But when it came to selling drugs, she remained undaunted—and it took more than a fierce glare from an arrogant doctor to discourage her. Despite her failure to get into med school, she had developed valuable skills being a pharmaceutical rep--dogged determination and sheer stubbornness.
Pirate's Wraith, The Page 8
