by Jody Hedlund
“Perhaps. But only if you wish to expose your family to a potential case of smallpox.”
Mr. Scott stiffened, and his eyes filled with horror. He backed out of the doorway until he was standing well onto the deck. “I did not realize the illness was quite so serious, my lord. I regret this intrusion.”
“I thank you for your concern, Mr. Scott,” Joseph said. “Now, would you be so kind as to inform the young women in Mercy’s cabin that they too are under quarantine until further notice? I shall be along soon to examine each of them.”
“Quarantine? Very well.” Mr. Scott swallowed hard, a visible lump sticking in his throat at his collar. “What about your own well-being, Lord Colville? You must take yourself out of the danger immediately.”
“I have been inoculated. But even if I had not, I could not skulk away to safety.”
At his emphasis on the word Mercy had spoken only moments ago, her gaze shifted to him, only to find that he’d glanced at her too. Something in the warm brown of his eyes told her that he was for her, that he wouldn’t leave her to fend for herself against Mr. Scott or against the threat of disease.
The realization loosened the fastening that had locked her heart tight, the one that kept her outside the wicket garden gate peering at something she could never have and never be a part of. He’d offered his friendship and was certainly proving it to her now. She couldn’t reject him any longer.
Mr. Scott continued to retreat from the cabin. From the panic evident in the reverend’s expression, he seemed not to have taken offense at Joseph’s comment but was too consumed with getting himself safely away from any danger.
Joseph closed the door and shut out the reverend completely. “Good riddance,” he mumbled under his breath.
Mercy stood still, hesitant, unsure if he’d meant for her to overhear him.
He crossed his hands behind his back and faced her again. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have spoken my thought aloud.”
“No matter, sir—”
“Mercy,” he said softly. “You are no girl. And I certainly have no wish to be thought of as sir.”
Was he referring to Mr. Scott’s order to her? “Upon my word, I think nothing of it.”
“His attitude shows a complete lack of regard for you as a person.”
She didn’t know what Joseph expected her to say in response. She was born into her station, and he born into his. There wasn’t anything that could be done to change the way of things. “Maybe we’re all like ships,” she finally offered. “When we’re born we’re put out to sea and can’t always control our fate or destination. We have only to ride out the journey as best we can.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she hurried to Sarah’s bedside, the heat of embarrassment creeping up her neck and into her cheeks.
“Perhaps,” he responded. “But having a friend along for the journey helps greatly in easing the burden. Would you not agree?”
“Aye, that I would.” When she chanced a look at him, his brow slanted up. He didn’t have to say any more for her to know he was asking about their friendship and what had become of it.
What had become of it? Had she let fear and shame stand in the way? Maybe theirs was an unusual friendship. But surely there were no rules that would prevent their being friends, especially for the short time they had left aboard the Tynemouth.
She offered him a smile.
When he smiled in return, she felt as if she’d been given a treasure, one she’d cherish long after their ships parted ways.
At the soft tap against the door, Mercy sat up. For a moment, she stared at the walls, unable to figure out where she was. As her focus moved to Sarah lying on the bed in front of her, Mercy released a breath.
She’d fallen asleep in the chair she’d pulled up next to Sarah. Apparently she was more tired than she’d realized. She reached out her hand to Sarah’s forehead, only to feel hot skin. The poor girl was still burning up.
Silently, Mercy berated herself for slumbering. She needed to get more water and continue to cool Sarah’s flesh. But even as she stood, she fought back a yawn.
Another knock came then, echoing loud in the stateroom.
Mercy froze.
What if Mrs. Robb had come this time to order her back to her cabin? Mrs. Robb was not quite as awed by Joseph as Mr. Scott and wouldn’t hesitate to force her to return if that’s what she wanted. With Joseph gone to see to his other patients, who would defend her?
Actually, she wasn’t breaking any rules by helping to take care of Sarah, and surely Joseph had explained by now that with the threat of smallpox, Mercy needed to stay with the sick girl. Yet as she mulled over the excuses in her mind, her heart quavered.
If only she had a little of Ann’s belligerence or a tiny amount of her strength in standing up for herself. Ann had taken to proudly wearing the necklace she’d plucked from the dirty chamber pot. It was a badge of sorts, almost as if she wanted to prove her worth. She’d said society might consider her and the rest of the poor women to be nothing more than throwaway trash, but underneath they were really treasures.
“Mercy?” came a soft voice, nothing like Mrs. Robb’s, from the other side of the door.
“Aye, ’tis me.” Mercy tried to place the voice. “Miss Lawrence?”
“I’ve come to offer my assistance.”
Mercy crossed to the door and opened it a crack to find the young woman pale but intact, a far cry from the moaning and wretched condition she’d been in only the night before. “You’re still weak, miss, and ought to be abed.”
“I am feeling a hundredfold better today.” Miss Lawrence smiled. “I wanted to thank you once again for coming to my aid. I know the other ladies are just as grateful.”
“No need for any thanks, miss. I’m happy to do it.”
She nodded, then hesitated. “When I heard Sarah may have the smallpox, I knew I had to offer my help.”
“Thank ye, miss. But the best thing you can do is stay away, that it is. Otherwise you’ll be catching the illness too.”
“Not to worry. I’ve already been vaccinated.”
Mercy opened the door wider.
“My stepmother required it of both me and my sister,” she continued. “Her first husband died of the disease. And when she saw the way the smallpox ravaged the body, she was terrified of anyone else contracting it.”
Mercy supposed she could use the assistance, as she was so tired still. But part of her protested allowing any other woman into Joseph’s cabin. It was foolish, she knew. He’d offered her friendship, and she wanted to have that friendship all to herself. She didn’t want to share it—not even with someone as considerate as Miss Lawrence.
“Dr. Colville is still waiting to learn what the disease is,” she finally responded. “If it’s not smallpox and is something else, we sure don’t want to be exposing you or any of the other women, now, do we?”
“No, I suppose not,” Miss Lawrence said reluctantly.
“I’ll be right well,” Mercy added. “You just go on and take good care of yourself, d’ye hear?”
Miss Lawrence smiled again, this time wearily. “Very well. But please do not hesitate to call for me if you need assistance. I shall be only too glad to help you.”
As she walked away, Mercy quietly closed the door and leaned against it. Her heart thudded a hard tempo. Why had she sent Miss Lawrence away? Surely she wasn’t jealous or concerned that Joseph would show interest in other women.
She shook her head adamantly but couldn’t shake the realization that the only woman she wanted Joseph to be with was herself.
twenty
How is Sarah this morning?” Joseph asked as he entered the sick bay. He shook the rain from his coat and had to brace himself against the sway of the ship as she battled the choppier waters north of the equator.
Mercy sat on the edge of Sarah’s bed, holding a cloth against the girl’s wan face. At the early hour, Mercy was already dressed in the blue gown she always wore. He�
�d ashamedly realized it was her only gown when he went to fetch her belongings from her cabin the first morning she was quarantined.
The girls in her quarters had handed him one set of clothing and her shoes. When he’d inquired after the rest, they shrugged and told him that was all. He was surprised by his anger over her meager wardrobe and was tempted to ask the captain to drop anchor at the next port city, so he could take Mercy into town and buy her a dozen gowns.
But such a demand would have mortified Mercy, causing her to retreat back into herself. And he didn’t want to risk that again, not after they’d formed a solid friendship while she was quarantined with Sarah.
“I think she took a turn for the worse during the night, the poor lamb,” Mercy answered without breaking from her ministrations.
“I suppose that means you didn’t sleep much.” He’d given Mercy leave of his stateroom and moved to another one amidships. Most of the passengers knew by now that Sarah was deathly ill with a possible case of smallpox. Yet with no sign of blisters, he’d begun to think they had escaped an outbreak.
None of the other girls from Mercy’s cabin had developed any symptoms, so after several days he’d lifted their quarantine. Even so, he hadn’t lifted the quarantine on Sarah or Mercy.
It wasn’t safe yet, he’d told himself. There was still the chance that what Sarah suffered was contagious, typhus perhaps. Her fever lasting almost two weeks was symptomatic. But without the telltale red rash upon her abdomen and back, he couldn’t be certain.
Sooner or later he’d have to allow Mercy to leave. But for now, she made no mention of it, and he hadn’t suggested it either. Maybe he was being selfish. He could admit he thoroughly enjoyed her companionship. He’d been teaching her about the medicines and herbs he’d brought along. He’d shown her his medical instruments and explained what they were used for. Some evenings he’d taken to reading aloud to her from his books.
She always listened attentively and was a quick learner. More than that, she shared interesting perspectives he hadn’t considered and was above all kind and thoughtful in everything she did.
Joseph crossed the cramped cabin and assessed Mercy first, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, the tired lines in her forehead, and the wilt of her chin. “I shall take over Sarah’s care while you rest.”
“I’m not tired.” Even as she said the words, she yawned.
He smiled at the contradiction. “You’re correct. You’re not tired. You’re exhausted.”
“And you worry too much.”
“If I didn’t worry about you, you’d soon find yourself committed to the deep.” He liked worrying about her. And a part of him had begun to panic at the realization the Tynemouth would reach San Francisco within a week’s time. They would spend a few days in the American city refueling before sailing to Vancouver Island directly afterward.
If the rumors were true, the men in the colonies would be anxiously awaiting the bride ship’s arrival. Mr. Scott had indicated that hundreds of men wanted wives. Hundreds. The mere idea of swarms of men coming down from the mining camps and mountains to greet the Tynemouth and the brides filled Joseph with foreboding.
The more he thought about other men staring at Mercy, lusting over her, and plotting how to have her, the more his gut twisted. She was too sweet, too lovely, too unspoiled and shouldn’t have to be auctioned off like a prize horse to the highest bidder. She deserved better than that.
He didn’t actually know how the brides would be distributed. Still, he had no doubt Mercy would be one of the first chosen. Her beauty was unrivaled. Even tired, she was exquisitely lovely.
“How was your meeting last night?” she asked. “Will we have enough fuel?”
Joseph had gathered late last night with Captain Hellyer and the other ship’s officers. With the continued calm weather, they’d used up most of their coal reserves as they resorted to the steam engines instead of wind power to propel the ship forward. Now without coal, they were attempting to come up with solutions for how to reach San Francisco.
“Starting today we’re collecting all available wood—crates, chairs, writing tables, anything we can do without.”
Her eyes widened. “We’ll be burning the furniture to fuel the engines?”
“Hopefully we’ll continue to have wind in the sails. But if we don’t, then yes, we’ll have to burn what we can to keep moving.”
She stifled another yawn.
“Come now.” He motioned toward the spare bunk. “You really must rest.” Though he was tempted to help her up into the bed, he’d maintained extraordinary self-control during her confinement and had refrained from any physical contact.
There were moments his mind reverted to his time holding her while they were in steerage together, to the memory of how soft and womanly she’d been. He could ill afford another incident like that. Rather, he needed to honor her and their friendship in every way—no matter how many temptations might come his way. He was a strong man. Surely this time with her had proven it.
“Mercy?” came Sarah’s weak voice.
Mercy bent and pressed a kiss upon Sarah’s brow. “Hush now, dear heart.”
“Take this.” Sarah slipped a ring off her thumb and held it out to Mercy with a shaking hand. The narrow gold band was devoid of any engraving or jewels.
“Stuff and nonsense.” Mercy knelt, took the ring, and attempted to put it back on Sarah’s thumb. The girl’s hands were skeletal after the poor nourishment of the long voyage, especially the past two weeks with her eating next to nothing.
“’Tis the only thing I’ve got that was my mum’s,” she rasped out through labored breaths.
“You’re keeping it, d’ye hear me?” Mercy said sternly.
Joseph dropped to his knees next to Mercy. Sarah was dying. Deep down he’d known it. He just hadn’t wanted to say it, to give up hope for Mercy’s sake. She was so desperate to save Sarah, and he didn’t want to see her disappointed.
Even now, he sensed Mercy would fight for the girl’s life until the very end.
“I want you to have it.” Sarah’s eyes were glassy with the fever that still ravaged her body.
“No,” Mercy whispered almost harshly. “You’re gonna get better, Sarah. Just you wait and see. And then you’ll wear it again right proud, that you will.”
Joseph wished there was something more he could do for the orphan. His mind scrambled for a solution, another concoction or tincture, anything to save the girl. But even as he searched for an answer, his experience told him he’d done all he could.
“Mercy?” Sarah said, this time more faintly.
Mercy placed another kiss upon the girl’s cheek. “Don’t say any more, my lamb. You must save your strength.”
Sarah struggled to turn herself so she was facing Mercy directly. Then she thrust the ring into Mercy’s hand again. “You’re like her. My mum.”
Mercy gently smoothed the girl’s forehead, brushing away lusterless hair.
“I’d be right happy knowing you’ll be wearing her ring.”
“Then I’ll wear it, that I will,” Mercy whispered. She slid it on her finger and held it up for Sarah to see. “But just until you’re better.”
Sarah nodded, then closed her eyes as though she had no more strength to keep them open. With the task completed, she expelled a breath and fell silent.
Joseph could almost see the girl’s spirit depart from her body. She was gone. He didn’t need to check her pulse or breathing to know.
Mercy sat quietly, unmoving, and stared at the ring. The acquiescence in her expression told him that for all her brave words, she knew the truth as well—Sarah wouldn’t be getting better. The sweet girl had left them.
Joseph waited for Mercy to say something, to unburden her sorrow, to express her disappointment. Surely her heart was overflowing with sadness. How could it not be? After pouring so much of herself into Sarah.
A moment later, Mercy stood.
Joseph rose too, still watching
her face closely. He wanted to offer her comfort. In fact, his heart ached knowing how hard this was for her.
“I’ll help you with her body.” Mercy’s voice was soft but didn’t waver. “Tell me what to do.”
For a while they worked together getting the body ready. Once Sarah was bathed, dressed, and her hair combed and neatly plaited, Joseph carried her to the cabin where he was staying, called for the captain, and made the arrangements for a committal service.
Finally, having followed the proper procedures, he returned to the sick bay. Mercy was kneeling on the floor. She’d taken the sheet off the bed and was scrubbing at a stain from Sarah’s vomit. She rubbed the bar of soap across the same spot over and over, her knuckles white, the veins in her wrist beating through her skin.
Closing the door quietly, he crossed to her. “Don’t trouble yourself with the sheet.”
She found another stain, dipped the soap into the basin, and attacked it.
Helplessness seeped through him. He wanted to say or do something to show her he understood the loss. But he had no words, and there was no way to soothe such grief. He knew that all too well.
He waited for tears to begin sliding down Mercy’s cheeks, but she focused on the linen with dry eyes.
Finally, he knelt and took the sheet and the soap out of her hands.
Only then did she turn to look at him. Her sea blue eyes raged with stormy waves. But she waited with the same resignation he’d seen when the little girl she’d brought to the dispensary had died, the same resignation that filled her face when Mrs. Robb had come after her the first time she’d brought him Sarah, the same resignation when Mr. Scott had demeaned her and called her girl.
Was it possible Mercy had experienced so much death and despair in her life that she accepted it without question? Was it such a normal part of her existence that she could so easily move on?
He held her gaze, needing to understand her in a way he couldn’t explain. As though sensing his questions, her eyes flashed, revealing depths of churning pain. Then just as quickly, the flash was gone.
