A Reluctant Bride

by Jody Hedlund

Even as she pictured the ship drifting aimlessly on the ocean and everyone aboard dying of thirst and hunger, she returned to Miss Lawrence’s stateroom with the same resignation that had held her in good stead in the past—the resignation not to dwell on her worries or sorrows. She’d seen too many others wallow in their problems, eventually sinking under the weight of them. She wouldn’t do the same.

  Soon the commotion on the decks turned into a frenzy as other second- and third-class passengers began to congregate. The main deck overflowed with people from steerage, who demanded to know what was happening.

  As the hours passed with no sight of Dr. Colville, something inside her twisted until she felt as taut as the ship’s rigging. She wanted to believe he was with the other passengers on the deck awaiting the outcome. Yet a deeper part of her knew he’d descended to the boiler rooms, straight into the heart of the mutiny, that he wasn’t the kind of man to sit back and do nothing in the face of peril. He’d be at the forefront of it, searching for a solution, which would put him in very real danger.

  Finally, when she could no longer sit still with Miss Lawrence, Mercy wound her way to the aft cabins to check on her charges. Most of the sixty women were waiting anxiously in their cramped roped-off area of the deck, wilting under the hot sun.

  At the sight of Mercy, they bombarded her with questions. She told them the small amount she’d gathered about the mutiny but added that she was as uninformed as they were. Mr. Scott was nowhere to be seen, and Mrs. Robb was frazzled by her attempts to keep the women from carrying out their own mutiny against her strict confinement to their little corner of the ship.

  Mercy was afraid Mrs. Robb might force her to remain there too. Eventually, though, she gave Mercy permission to return to Miss Lawrence’s stateroom, but not without a withering glare that made Mercy feel dirty down to the core. She was mortified all over again to realize that if Mrs. Robb assumed she was ruining herself with Dr. Colville, then others must think so as well.

  With the excessive heat of the tropics, she was helping to cool Miss Lawrence’s face when the door banged open and Dr. Colville filled the frame.

  Mercy leaped to her feet, searching for any sign of harm. His shirt was disheveled, his waistcoat unbuttoned, and his hair flattened to his head.

  “How do you fare?” he asked breathlessly as though he’d just been running.

  The question took Mercy by surprise. “Never mind me, sir.” She had to restrain herself from circling him and making sure he had no hidden injuries. “I’ve been having visions of you cut to pieces by the mutineers and thrown to the sharks as bait.”

  He grinned. “I’m glad to know you’ve been worried.”

  “What d’ye expect, sir?” She tried to keep her voice light, but her heart raced with a strange anxiety over his well-being. “Disappearing all these long hours and leaving me to wonder what became of you?”

  Coal soot mingled with perspiration on his forehead and neck, making him appear more rugged than aristocratic. He didn’t immediately reply but instead seemed to take his time studying her face, as though the sight of her might somehow soothe him.

  She soothe him? She silently chided herself for so prideful a thought. “Can you tell me how it goes?” She pulled her thoughts from a place she didn’t want them wandering. She had no business thinking of him in any capacity other than their roles as doctor and assistant.

  Before she allowed herself the pleasure of staring at him any longer, she reached for the pitcher of water she’d left beside Miss Lawrence’s bed.

  She could feel his gaze following her every movement. “We rounded up the insurgents,” he replied, “and threw them into a makeshift brig. Captain Hellyer has charged them with mutiny on the high seas, and they are to be kept manacled and confined until they can be tried for their crimes.”

  “Are there many of them?”

  “Not the entire crew, but enough that we’ll be shorthanded forthwith.”

  She poured from the pitcher into Miss Lawrence’s tin cup, conscious he was still watching her. “Then we’re stuck here on the sea?”

  “We’ve come up with a plan, having asked that any man among the passengers who is willing shall volunteer to help until a replacement crew can be acquired in the Falklands.”

  The news so startled Mercy that some of the water sloshed over the side of the cup. “You’re in earnest?”

  He nodded.

  “Did the men volunteer?”

  “Straightaway.” His shoulders seemed to relax, and his features softened. “All the men, Mercy. Gentlemen and commoners alike.”

  The earnestness of his tone, the use of her given name, the realization that he was sharing so personally with her, sent her insides diving into unfamiliar territory that was warm and pleasurable.

  She handed him the cup of water. As he tipped his head back and drank, she was the one doing the staring now, taking in the strength of his jaw and neck as he swallowed, the confident way he held himself.

  “If it’s rich and poor alike, then it’s because of you,” she said with more passion than she intended. “The men respect you and like you all around, to be sure.”

  After drinking the last drop, his eyes sought hers. And stayed there, even as he lowered the mug.

  She felt breathless and hot and drawn to him, as if the intensity of his gaze had a magical power over her.

  A faint voice behind her broke the spell. “Then will everything be all right, Lord Colville?”

  Mercy pivoted and knelt beside Miss Lawrence, her pulse careening even more rapidly. She didn’t understand her reaction to Dr. Colville, and suddenly it frightened her.

  “Rest assured,” Dr. Colville said smoothly, clearly not as ruffled as she was. “With every man doing his part, we shall reach the Falklands right on schedule.”

  “Thanks be to God,” Miss Lawrence replied, looking past Mercy to Dr. Colville. “I fear I have become a burden to everyone and would not wish to impose longer than is necessary.”

  “There, there, dear.” Mercy retrieved the cloth she’d abandoned upon Dr. Colville’s appearance. She placed it back on Miss Lawrence’s forehead. “You’ll be right well soon enough, that you will.”

  “I signed up to work the first shift,” Dr. Colville said. “Stoking the boilers.”

  His statement pulled Mercy’s attention back around. She wanted to chastise him, for he was already plenty busy tending sick passengers. But the determined set of his jaw told her he wouldn’t be swayed.

  Something sweet expanded in her chest. She was proud of him, she realized. Proud of how humble he was to do the work of a common laborer. And proud she had the opportunity to serve alongside him.

  “Lord Colville is a wonderful man,” Miss Lawrence said wistfully once the doctor had left. “If only there were more men of his integrity and kindness. I pray that once we arrive to Vancouver Island, we shall all find men as kind and honorable as he is.”

  Mercy nodded and hoped Miss Lawrence took that as her agreement, even though she was far from agreeable about finding a husband on Vancouver Island. “You’re right pretty and will have men fighting over you, to be sure.”

  Miss Lawrence tugged at a strand of her red hair as if the color explained her singleness. “While I was destined to be a spinster, my sister is the pretty one in our family. Though there aren’t many eligible gentlemen left in London, my father made a good match for her.”

  Over the past few days, Miss Lawrence had shared only the barest of details regarding her family, mentioning her servant, Hayward, who had been special to her, along with her sister and her babe. Mercy was still curious about the stripes and bruises that covered the woman’s body so carefully confined to areas where no one would notice them when she was fully dressed. But whenever Mercy asked Miss Lawrence about her past, she always quickly changed the subject.

  Mercy wanted to ask more now, yet she knew her place well enough. For as sweet as the gentlewoman was, Mercy was more like a servant to her than a friend.

>   “Lord Colville will make some lucky woman a fine husband someday,” Miss Lawrence said, reclining against her pillows. “For as much as I or any of the other women may dream about him, Joseph Colville will have his eyes set much higher—on a woman of noble birth, someone with both title and wealth.”

  Joseph Colville.

  Mercy hadn’t known his given name, had never heard it spoken. Now she allowed the name to play in her mind like a single low melody. Joseph, Joseph, Joseph . . .

  Even if it was entirely improper for her to think his name, much less speak it aloud, the sweet tune played regardless.

  fifteen

  The candle holder on the heavy oaken table slid with the swaying of the ship. Joseph grabbed it and did likewise with his plate of food.

  Around him in the salon, the passengers chatted amiably, although the two long tables were decidedly sparser for the evening meal. The ship had finally crossed the line, sailed out of the doldrums, and was now in the choppier waters of the South Atlantic, causing a new bout of seasickness among those with weaker stomachs.

  Across from him, Mr. Scott carried on a conversation with another gentleman, a Mr. Whymper. “We would be most delighted to have the pleasure of your presence again this eve, Mr. Whymper. Miss Scott will be reading from The Vision of Judgment by Lord Byron. She reads with such emotion. I have no doubt you will be completely enamored by her rendition.”

  Joseph took another bite of the tough pork, which rivaled the biscuit in its staleness. The semblance of gravy was thick and pasty and floated with dried peas. Nevertheless, he ate every bite, having increased his appetite from the hard work and heavy lifting in the boiler room. The noise of the engines was deafening, the heat unbearable, and the soot a nightmare.

  Most mornings, when he and the other men returned from the ship’s bowels as black as coal, the sailors, who were in the process of washing the deck, would turn their hoses upon the men, cooling and cleaning them in one sweep. The equatorial heat dried them out soon enough. Afterward, Joseph would fall onto his bed and sleep for a few hours—so long as there weren’t any medical emergencies demanding his attention.

  After taking his turn at keeping the ship running, he had greater empathy for the men who’d mutinied. Even so, they had no right to put everyone else at risk because of their grudges.

  Mr. Scott spoke again while twisting at his high collar as though to loosen it so that he could swallow his food. “Perhaps the other Miss Scott might provide further entertainment this eve with her singing. She is quite accomplished at a number of hymns and can sing ‘God Save the Queen’ beautifully, can she not, my dear?” He turned to his wife, who sat on his other side.

  “Quite right, Mr. Scott,” she said demurely. “Very beautifully indeed.”

  Joseph had learned that the Scott women rarely spoke. He oft thought Mr. Scott had enough voice for them all. Even with the attention Mr. Scott attempted to draw to his women, his loquaciousness seemed only to push them further into his shadow.

  At least the heavy labor afforded Joseph a reprieve from Mr. Scott’s invitations. Since he’d started shoveling and stoking coal a fortnight ago, he’d been able to excuse himself from the evening entertainment. Now it appeared Mr. Scott had set his designs upon Mr. Whymper.

  The young man was cordial toward the reverend. Without any other diversions on the ship other than strolling the deck, Mr. Whymper appeared eager enough for the Scotts’ companionship. And that suited Joseph, as he had no desire for it himself.

  With the increase in the wind, Captain Hellyer had put a stop to the steam engines and unfurled the sails, letting the wind drive the ship onward. The air power would conserve their coal supply, as well as allow the men a respite from the backbreaking work.

  Though the steady rumble of the ship beneath Joseph’s boots was silent again, the ship hadn’t lost any progress. It was almost as if the mutiny had never occurred. Only by the grace of God . . .

  The altercation could have turned bloody, especially if more sailors had joined in the insurrection. As it was, the ship’s officers had taken quick and decisive action, using their belaying pins to beat the mutineers into submission before dragging them away.

  With another tilt of the ship, the candles and dinnerware slid again, this time more forcefully. Several utensils clattered to the floor, along with a goblet of wine, sending a splatter of Burgundy across the planking in every direction. Joseph lurched forward and managed to create a barrier with his arm, preventing even more from falling. Gasps of dismay and murmurs of worry replaced the conversation as passengers gripped the tables to hold themselves in their chairs.

  A glance out the salon window showed the sky to be the same dark gray as earlier. And although the rain had held off, Joseph suspected they would have their fair share before the night was over.

  The door to the room slammed open, and a ship’s boy entered, bringing with him a gust of wind—cooler and hinting at a coming storm. “Dr. Colville?” the lanky boy called.

  Joseph released his hold on the dinner items and stood. “What is it, Harry?”

  The boy, not much older than fourteen, was as filthy as the rest of the sailors but gentler in spirit, not yet hardened from life at sea. Early on, Joseph had enlisted Harry’s help in relaying to him the medical needs of the steerage passengers.

  “Mrs. Donovan be having her labor pains in a bad way, sir,” Harry said, his greasy hair hanging about his face.

  Joseph stood hastily, his chair scraping the floor and nearly tipping over. “How long has she been travailing?”

  “Don’t rightly know, sir. Her mister is mighty afeared, seeing as the midwife said there ain’t no more can be done.”

  When Joseph had last been down in steerage, Mrs. Donovan was overdue, but since she’d already birthed half a dozen children, Joseph didn’t expect her to have any difficulties with another.

  “I shall gather a few supplies and be on my way,” Joseph said. “In the meantime, I would like you to fetch Miss Wilkins.”

  Harry nodded and backed out of the room, wrestling with the wind to close the door behind him.

  “Please excuse me,” Joseph said to the remaining passengers before leaving the table.

  “Lord Colville.” Mr. Scott rose rapidly and held up a hand as though to stop Joseph’s departure. “Surely you don’t need Miss Wilkins when one of my daughters would be most willing to help you.”

  Joseph halted. “Mr. Scott, I do thank you for your kind offer, but as I recall, on the last occasion Miss Scott assisted me, she ended up in a faint.”

  Several evenings ago, one of the sailors had needed a festering tooth pulled. When Joseph had asked for Mercy’s assistance, Mr. Scott insisted he take his daughter instead.

  Joseph couldn’t remember the names of the two daughters and wasn’t able to tell them apart. Nevertheless, the one who’d tried to assist him shifted in her seat and flushed. At her obvious embarrassment at his bold statement, Joseph silently chastised himself for not being more tactful with his criticism.

  “Please make use of the other Miss Scott,” Mr. Scott insisted. “She is much less squeamish and will most certainly be of great aid to you.”

  Joseph paused, his hand on the door handle. He’d seen little of Mercy since Miss Lawrence had recovered enough to return to her quarters. He’d tried not to engage the women milling about on their section of deck, yet he found his attention irresistibly drawn there when passing by on his way to his stateroom, especially whenever Mercy was out. He was tempted to approach and talk to her but had refrained, knowing nothing good could come of it. After having time to contemplate the rumor that he’d taken Mercy as his mistress, he’d decided he needed to guard her reputation by staying away.

  Even if he was able to hold himself back, keeping his thoughts at bay was another matter entirely. The truth was, he found his mind wandering to her quite regularly.

  “I assure you, Lord Colville,” Mr. Scott continued, his tone taking on a pleading quality. “My dau
ghter can be of great benefit to you. You must take her with you.”

  While Joseph’s spine stiffened in protest, his conscience told him he should heed Mr. Scott’s plea. It was a beckoning to stay clear of the trouble he might stir up again by involving himself with Mercy.

  The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Mercy. And if the rumors resurfaced, if he tainted her reputation, then she’d likely lose any chance of finding a husband once she reached Vancouver Island.

  With an inward sigh, he nodded at Mr. Scott. “Very well—”

  His acquiescence was cut short by Miss Scott cupping her mouth. With a pale face and wide eyes, she shot up from her seat. Before she could take a step, she stooped over and vomited on the floor.

  Mrs. Scott rose from her chair in an instant. She slipped her arm around her daughter and guided her rapidly from the dining room, the second daughter scurrying closely behind. Once the door shut behind them, Mr. Scott kept his attention riveted to the table and wordlessly lowered himself to his seat.

  Joseph nodded at the other passengers, then took his leave. As he hurried to his cabin, the wind and the first drops of rain buffeted him as though to warn him not to disturb Mercy. If he was completely honest, he knew he could use the midwife as his assistant. His calling after Mercy hadn’t been necessary, and he suspected Mr. Scott had known it.

  He’d send her back, he told himself as he entered his cabin and stomped about gathering his supplies, growing angrier at himself by the second.

  Hearing a knock on his door, he took a deep breath, braced himself for what he must do, and swung open the door.

  The rain had begun in earnest now and was pelting Mercy, so that she hung her head to avoid the sting of it against her face. The waves were splashing higher, and a sudden spray over the rail threatened to soak her.

  Without a word of greeting, he dragged her out of the deluge into his cabin and shut the door.

  Her breath came in gasps, and she leaned against the door as if needing it to brace herself up.

  The interior of his cabin was dismal and dark, but not so much that he couldn’t see the swell of her chest rising and falling in rapid succession or the tautness of her bare throat or the raindrops on her lips.