“Well, sir, what do you think?”
“I think, Mr. Bentley,” Daniel said with emphasis, “that you must have scrounged up these men after the pubs closed this morning.”
His first mate chuckled, and Daniel’s annoyance mounted.
Selecting a crew took careful consideration. After all, he was responsible for both the ship and its cargo, which consisted of several some four thousand bales of wool, several tons of tallow, and sundries. But the most precious of it all were several master paintings going to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Daniel had personally overseen to their safekeeping.
“Need I remind you, Bent,” he stated in controlled frustration albeit using his nickname for the first mate, “we’ve got almost a three-week voyage ahead of us, and it’ll seem like a lifetime with the wrong seamen aboard.”
A hint of a smile still curved Al Bentley’s thin lips. “No reminding required, Cap’n. I’ve been your first officer for a long while now, and I know what you expect.” Bent counted on his fingers. “Isaac Cravens has been your second and Billy Lawler your third.”
“I know who my officers are, Bent!” Daniel fought to quell his impatience.
“And Dr. Morrison is, of course, sailing with us too. Mr.
Ramsey wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Daniel dipped his head in reply, knowing good and well the requirements George Ramsey put in place for his fleet.
“So how ’bout these able-bodied fellows? I’ve a hunch they’ll serve us well, and the faster we get to New York, the faster they’ll get paid and return to London.”
Again, Daniel nodded. “I suppose they’ll do.”
“I interviewed ’em like ye tol’ me, and each seaman proved himself while loading up the Allegiance. We’re ready to set sail anytime you give the word.”
Daniel kneaded his chin. “I presume there is a cook on board.” He arched a brow before glancing back at his brawny crewmen. Two voyages ago Bent had overlooked that small detail.
“Hired the cook yesterday, sir.” This time chagrin edged the lanky man’s reply. “He’s been in your employ b’fore. Jeremy Kidwell’s his name, and he’s presently down below, arranging the galley to his liking.”
“Kidwell, eh?” Daniel recalled the young red-haired man. “If my memory serves me correctly, Kidwell serves up a hearty meal.”
“Aye, sir, he’s both skillful and resourceful.” A hopeful glimmer entered Bent’s sea-green eyes.
“Good work.” Daniel rarely dolled out compliments, but he made a point to do so when they were warranted. He gave Bent a friendly clap on the back.
“Thank you, Cap’n.” A smile stretched across the first mate’s leathery face, revealing a dark space where a front tooth had once been rooted. “Although I was sorry to learn this’ll be our last voyage together for a while. Maybe even for good, if you take over for Mr. Ramsey on dry land instead of the high seas.”
“Yes, well, that’s always been the plan.” Daniel clasped his hands behind his back and widened his stance on the deck. “But before I step into the role of executor and chief of Ramsey Shipping, I need a knot in that proverbial tie that binds.” A private man, he didn’t want to reveal too much, although he had confided—to a degree—in his first mate before. He felt an inexplicable urge to return to his family’s farm and see his father.
Poppa has taken ill, his mother, Kristin Sundberg, wrote. Please come home soon.
Daniel’s heart twisted painfully at the thought of losing his father forever, even though he’d hardly given the man a single thought over the past decade—or longer. But now, after hearing that Poppa lay dying on the other side of the world, Daniel knew he had to see him one last time—that is, if he wasn’t already too late.
But what would George have to say about his visit to Wisconsin?
“Cap’n?” Bent’s voice broke through the reverie. “It’s possible, ye know, that your father’ll recover.” Bent leaned in close. “My own mother suffered a debilitatin’ illness. But now she’s back on her feet an’ spittin’ nails like always.”
Daniel wrestled with a grin. “I’ll take encouragement from that bit of information.” The warm summer wind brushed over his face, bringing along with it the stench from the Thames. Thank God he wouldn’t be docked on this crowded, stinking river for weeks, such as had happened several voyages ago. With his crew now in place and the cargo stowed, he would soon skillfully glide the Allegiance out of London’s port.
Arms falling to his side, Daniel turned toward his cabin to finish the paperwork awaiting him on his desk. “We’ll set sail in one hour’s time,” he called over his left shoulder.
“Aye, Cap’n!”
Darkness shrouded Julianna so that she couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face. Beneath her, the sea roiled. Waves crashed rhythmically beyond the walls of her tomblike confines.
A ship. She’d been loaded into the bowels of a ship, for pity’s sake!
Julianna swallowed back tears of fear and frustration. How could this have happened? She’d tried to cry out. However, her voice hadn’t been heard above the din of sliding crates and sailors’ shouts. And the language—it had been blue enough to burn the ears of any delicate female. But, of course, Julianna had heard the same foul words, or worse, coming from the pub beneath the chamber she shared with Flora. How her sister could abide serving ale every night, Julianna would never know. Of course Flora didn’t have much choice, thanks to Mr. Tolbert. But, sadly, more often than not, a drunken sailor assisted Flora upstairs. When he didn’t, Julianna fetched her. And that’s as close as she cared to be to the reviling place.
But who would tend to Flora tonight—or tomorrow morning when the aftereffects of the alcohol wore off?
A kind of heaviness crept over Julianna. She had cared for Flora for as long as she could remember. She loved her sister and would do anything for her—
Well, almost anything.
Julianna wondered what Flora would say when she discovered her disappearance. She’d surely committed two great sins by running from both her job and Olson Tolbert. Flora drank away her pay, so they relied on Julianna’s income for food and shelter. And now the marriage …Flora had apparently been counting on that too. She was sure to have one fine fit, that’s for sure!
Blades of betrayal pierced Julianna’s being. Earlier the old cook said Flora had quite a tidy sum riding on Julianna’s impending nuptials—well, Cook hadn’t said it quite that way. She’d referred to the union as “a deal.”
Julianna bristled. So when had Flora made her pact with the devil? Julianna would have never agreed to such a thing!
Over the past year and a half that Julianna had been in Mr. Tolbert’s employ, she’d managed to sidestep his advances. At the same time, she’d observed his abusive hand come down hard upon several household maids.
Julianna shuddered. Marriage to that cruel, pompous man would be worse than … than …
Than being in the depths of this sailing ship?
The answer remained to be seen.
Struggling within her confines, Julianna tried to move her limbs. Prickles of numbness moved from her feet to her ankles. She wiggled, but there wasn’t space enough to shift positions. Worse, she needed to use the loo!
“Help!” Julianna’s voice drowned beneath the noise of the sea and the myriad of cargo. “Help me, please!” When she thought that she might never be found, a sense of panic began to rise. Suddenly she needed out of here—and now! “Anyone! Please, help!”
Threads of Hope Page 26
