by Jody Hedlund
Against his will, his body reacted to her nearness, his muscles tightening, making him chastise himself all over again for involving her in this medical emergency. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to entertain the possibility of utilizing her help again but should have kept in place the barrier between them.
She gave a slight tremble, and only then did he realize she wore no cloak or shawl for protection against the rain or the chill.
“Where is your cloak?” His irritation at himself made his voice sharper than he’d intended.
When her lashes swept up to reveal her large eyes, he wasn’t able to see the blue-green in them. What he saw instead was her confusion in the slant of her brows.
“Sir?”
“Your cloak?”
“I don’t have one. Never did.”
Never had a cloak? He spun away from her, suddenly livid. At himself, at the world, at the unfairness of her life. He was overwhelmed by the realization of everything she’d had to live without, things any human being ought to possess. Not only should she own a proper cloak, but she ought to have lovely gowns and sturdy shoes and warm stockings and pretty hats and silky gloves . . .
He strode to his trunk, threw open the lid, and dug through it until he found one of his oiled capes. He returned to her, thrust it into her arms, then stalked back to the bag he’d been packing before she arrived. “Put it on.”
She hesitated before slowly donning it. “You’re angry with me, sir?”
His hands froze in midair, and his shoulders slumped as the anger drained from his body, leaving defeat in its wake. “No. I’m not cross with you, Mercy. I’m cross with myself.”
When she didn’t question him further, he finished stuffing the rest of what he needed in the bag. Then, leading the way, he started toward the steerage hatch. In the offing, dark clouds seemed to have mounted one upon the other, and he couldn’t distinguish where the sea ended and the storm began. The waves were striking the ship harder, tossing the vessel and making walking more difficult.
“Hold on to my coat,” he called over his shoulder.
She grasped his coattail, and he plunged forward just as a wave came over the deck, sending seawater rolling under their feet. Above them, sailors climbed the rigging to secure the sails, their shouts muffled by the roar of the wind and waves.
Joseph steered Mercy clear of the dozens of heavy ropes ferociously whipping about. He’d been stung by flyaway rigging on his first voyage and had to suture his own head with a dozen stitches. In a storm, and without the experience of a sailor who knew how to handle the loose serpents, he’d learned the ropes could be dangerous if not deadly.
At the hatch, Gully was already in the process of securing it with a heavy tarpaulin.
Joseph shook his head, motioning for the old sailor to uncover it. “I need to try to save Mrs. Donovan and the babe,” he shouted above the crashing waves.
Gully’s hardened eyes darted from Joseph to Mercy before softening just a tad. With a nod, he yanked the canvas off and opened the hatch for them.
Immediately the water began pouring inside. Gully swept Mercy up and lowered her with a tenderness that surprised Joseph. Once Mercy was secure, Joseph quickly climbed down, slipping on the ladder rungs even after Gully closed the hatch above.
As his boots connected with the landing, the ship swayed and threw him against Mercy. He braced his hands on the wall, attempting to protect her from the full weight of his body. Even so, he found himself pressed against her, every soft exquisite part.
She drew in a sharp breath.
His attention dropped to her mouth, which was close enough he could feel the warmth of her exhalations against his chin. Though this was neither the time nor place to ponder what it would be like to lean in and capture her lips with his, the desire to kiss her sparked inside him nonetheless.
He forced his sights away from her mouth and found himself looking into her beautiful eyes, wide with confusion, along with something else that sent his pulse to racing. Was it desire? Was she feeling a pull toward him the same way he now felt toward her?
Such a foolhardy and impudent thought. Where was his integrity?
He shoved away from the wall and from her, groping for the square opening that led into steerage. He must stay in control and act upon all he knew to be right. For he’d meant what he told Mercy that day he refuted the rumors about having her as his mistress. He wouldn’t use a woman in such a way, now or ever.
Without waiting for her to trail after him, he wound his way through steerage and the huddling mass of passengers. The swaying motion below was worse than above, and he had to clutch one bunk after another to guide him as he moved forward. He only needed to follow the anguished screams to know where to find Mrs. Donovan.
Once he reached the bedside, he set to work lighting a lantern. And as he lifted it and saw the bloodstained mattress beneath the writhing woman, he prayed he wasn’t too late.
sixteen
Mercy wiped blood from her hands and extended the towel to Joseph. He took it wordlessly without looking at her and began to clean the blood from his hands. In the violently swinging lantern light, his expression was severe, his muscles taut.
Over the past hour, he’d spoken to her only when giving instructions and hadn’t set his eyes upon her, not even for an instant. Not since their encounter when they’d entered steerage and he’d fallen against her, when he’d slanted his head and looked at her mouth as though he had every intention of pressing into her even further and kissing her.
She hadn’t been repulsed and hadn’t wanted to pull away. In fact, she’d surprised herself with the need to feel his lips against hers. She’d never kissed a man before, never desired it, had never expected to desire it. Not with her resolve to abstain from relationships with men.
Then why now? And why with Joseph?
“Thank ye, Doctor,” Mr. Donovan said again, clamping down on Joseph’s shoulder. They both swayed and nearly went down with the tilt of the boat. Mercy grabbed on to the beam of the bed to keep from toppling.
All throughout the long delivery, as Joseph worked to turn the babe so it would be born safely, Mrs. Donovan’s screams of agony had drowned out everything else. Mercy had hardly noticed the churning of the ship or the water seeping in from the walls or the creaking of the dripping beams overhead.
But with Mrs. Donovan happily cradling her newborn babe, Mercy was well aware of the deteriorating conditions and the raging of the storm as she struggled to stay on her feet.
“They’ve battened down the hatches, that they have,” Mr. Donovan said. “You won’t be climbin’ above until the storm’s over.”
Joseph nodded and glanced around, seeming to assess everyone. “I was aware that might happen when I came down here.”
“Then I thank ye even more, Doctor.” Mr. Donovan stared down at his wife and babe, his eyes glassy with tears. “I wish there were a way I could repay you.”
“There is one thing you can do,” Joseph said.
Mercy clung tightly as the ship tossed again, this time so high that many of the passengers cried out in fright. Surely this storm didn’t have the power to turn the ship upside down, did it?
“Anything, sir, anything ’tall,” Mr. Donovan called above the noise. “You just say it.”
“A bed for my assistant, Miss Wilkins, where she can ride out the storm.”
While Joseph still wouldn’t look at her, Mr. Donovan did and nodded eagerly. He shouted instructions to a group of children crowded onto a nearby bottom bunk. At his command they scattered, some climbing into different beds, others crawling underneath the bunk.
Mr. Donovan waved his hand at the now-vacant bed. “It’ll be as safe and dry as you can get here in steerage.”
Joseph nodded his thanks before reaching out and grabbing on to Mercy’s elbow. Although he was having trouble staying afoot too, he was managing better than she was, so she allowed him to guide her to the bunk. He didn’t release her until she was seate
d comfortably. Then he backed away, not lingering a moment longer than he had to.
“You best take cover too, Doctor,” Mr. Donovan shouted over the ship’s creaking and groaning as he hunkered down next to his wife and new babe.
Joseph said something in reply, yet the words were lost by another swell and crash of a wave against the hull. Among the screams and cries of the passengers, Joseph made his way through steerage, offering aid and encouragement where he could.
Seeing his concern for their comfort and safety, Mercy couldn’t keep at bay her admiration, though her heart warned her that she needed to try harder to stave off such feelings.
Claps of thunder and the hammering of the sea became fiercer. When the ship’s stern rose and seemed to point toward heaven, Mercy could hardly hold on to the bed. An agonizing moment later, the ship plunged, charging down the trough, throwing everyone the opposite direction.
Mercy wondered if the ship would keep diving downward through the ocean, all the way to the very bottom. But then with a horrible creaking that sounded as if the ship were breaking apart, they rose again and beat back the onslaught of another great wave.
More screams and cries rang out in the cramped quarters. The banging and pounding coming from the decks beneath them sounded as though a sea monster had attacked the ship and was attempting to tear it to shreds.
Still clinging to the bed beam, Mercy squeezed her eyes shut. There were no such things as sea monsters. Nevertheless, her body shook with terror. If the storm above didn’t sink them, the forces below would. They were going to die, and she wasn’t ready for her life to end.
“God . . .” she whispered. She tried praying the way Patience had taught her, but the words caught in her throat. If she was about to sink with the ship and drown, then she needed to plead with God to take her to heaven in spite of all her bitterness toward Him.
“Mercy” came Joseph’s voice from above her. “How do you fare?”
Her eyes flew open to utter darkness. He’d extinguished the lantern. Or perhaps the water leaking in from the deck above had put out its flame. Whatever the case, darkness had descended with a finality as certain as the grave.
His hand connected with her arm. “You’re trembling.”
She felt him wrapping something around her, and it took her a moment to realize he’d shed his coat and covered her with it.
An instant later, she felt his presence on the bed beside her as he lay down next to her. She was shaking so forcefully that when he slipped an arm around her and pulled her close, she collapsed into him and wanted to weep with fear but held it in.
“Rest easy now,” he murmured against her ear, even as he enfolded her deeper within his embrace.
Soon she could feel her trembling subside. And though the ship continued to lurch and heave as if it might come apart beam by beam, Joseph’s presence and the security of his arms brought her a measure of comfort, even if these were their last moments on earth.
“Are you starting to regain warmth?” he asked.
She was tempted to lie and tell him she was freezing so that he wouldn’t release her. But in the throes of death, her conscience forbade her from any further sin. “My fear troubles me more than the cold, sir.”
He was silent, and she waited for him to leave her side. But with another steep tilt of the ship, his hold only tightened. As the vessel dipped with the swell of a wave that was likely submerging the stern, Mercy buried her face against his chest.
“Are you ready to die, Doctor?” she asked.
“I’d like to think so.” His voice was low. “I want to be ready to stand before my Maker and give an account for my life, but I’m not so certain.”
“What have you to confess, sir? Cannot be overmuch, not compared to my sins.”
“Your sins? From what I’ve seen, you have nothing but goodness in your heart.”
“My transgressions are plentiful enough.” With the storm threatening to take their lives, she might as well confess. “For one, I doubt God too oft.”
“That’s only human. God surely invites us to wrestle with Him the same way our forefathers did time after time in the Holy Scriptures.”
Before Joseph could probe further, she confessed a worse sin, one that plagued her every day. “I left my sister Patience behind at the workhouse.”
“From what you’ve told me of her, she wanted you to leave London and have a better life.”
“Aye, she’s always sacrificed for me. And now I need to survive for her so that I can help her start over too.”
“Then you’re hoping she can emigrate one day and join you?”
“I made arrangements for her to sail on the Robert Lowe, the next ship the Columbia Mission Society is sending out. Even so, I can’t keep from doubting myself in leaving her behind and wishing I’d found another way.”
“I’m sure if there had been another way, you would have taken advantage of it.”
The ship pitched again, causing her stomach to plummet with it. For long moments, they couldn’t speak amidst the crashing waves and battering wind that drowned out even the cries and calls of despair that rose from the other passengers.
Joseph’s steady breathing close by helped to calm her nerves once more, so that she allowed herself to breathe freely.
“It has been pointed out to me,” he finally said, “that perhaps I am running from God.”
“Running from God? You who are a kindness and savior to everyone you meet?”
“Well, perhaps I’m like Jonah, running from God and what He is calling me to do with my life.”
Mercy had only a vague recollection of the story of Jonah, the prophet who’d been tossed into the sea and swallowed by a giant fish because he’d refused to go and preach to the heathens.
“Perhaps if you throw me overboard,” he said, “this storm will cease.”
“Stuff and nonsense. I’ll do no such thing.”
Against her head, she could feel his mouth curve up into a smile. He’d been teasing her, and the realization left her breathless. “If not doctoring,” she said hurriedly to cover her strange feelings, “what do you suppose be His calling for your life, sir?”
“The doctoring isn’t in question, just the location of where to do it. Dr. Bates wanted me to stay at the Shoreditch Dispensary and enter into a partnership with him. I turned him down.”
After watching Joseph work so tirelessly to save Clara, she’d sensed a kindness and generosity in him that was much needed in the slums. Dr. Bates had surely sensed it as well. But maybe Joseph didn’t want to make the sacrifices necessary to work at the dispensary. “Does God have only one place for you? Can’t He use you anywhere?”
“That’s what I’ve been telling myself since I started this voyage. But if that’s the case, why then do I feel so restless, as though I somehow went my own direction and took the easy way?”
Serving in the slums would certainly be a difficult life for someone of Joseph’s social standing. “Patience always said that we might be troubled on every side, but God’s still there working things out in His way. And God’s way is something we can’t always see or make sense of.”
Joseph didn’t respond. As his silence lengthened, Mercy guessed she’d overstepped her bounds. After all, she was just a poor woman from the worst part of the city. What did she know of God and His plans for Joseph when she couldn’t begin to understand His plans for herself?
As the ship rose and then sank again, it threatened to wrest her from Joseph’s arms. She clutched his waistcoat but expected the turbulent motion might send her flying like a loose button popped from its thread.
“If we are to perish this night, you most assuredly do not have anything to fear in standing before your Maker,” he said and reached out with one arm to grab the beam of the bunk above while continuing to hold her with the other. “You are the closest to an angel I think I shall ever meet on this side of heaven.”
His words spread warmth to her limbs, and despite the storm ragin
g around them, some of her fear dissipated. If they survived, she would always cherish his compliment and the knowledge he regarded her so highly. “Thank ye, Joseph.”
Once his given name left her lips, she realized her mistake too late to take it back. She closed her eyes and cringed, hoping he hadn’t heard her. That was what came of allowing her thoughts to run away with too much familiarity these past weeks.
“Does the use of my given name mean you consider me a friend?”
“I’m sorry, my lord. I shouldn’t have—”
“Yes, you should have.”
“I would never presume, sir.” A friend with Joseph? Who’d ever heard of such a thing—an important nobleman becoming friends with a lowly insignificant woman?
“I would cherish your friendship, Mercy. And I do desire that you put aside titles when we speak together.”
Exactly what kind of friendship did Joseph have in mind? Her thoughts strayed to the moment they’d climbed down into steerage and he’d fallen against her and looked as though he might kiss her.
She forced the memory away. Hadn’t he assured her he had no intention of seducing her? Hadn’t he been a gentleman thus far in every way? If he was offering friendship, she could accept it, couldn’t she?
“You’re a lord,” she said at last, “while I’m a simple poor woman. Who’s ever heard of a friendship betwixt two so different?”
“Are we so different really? Perhaps we are more alike than we know.”
She mulled over his words, which were like spicy warm ale, heating a deep place in her stomach.
“Since we are to be friends,” he went on, “we shall do what we can to divert each other’s attention from the peril at hand.”
“How’s that, sir?” Before he could answer, she became keenly conscious of the way their bodies fused together. She told herself the intimacy was for the sake of safety. He was keeping her warm and protecting her from the storm and danger all around them. Even so, she pictured him shifting so that his lips touched hers for the tiniest of kisses. That was all.
