Starlight & Promises

by Cat Lindler

  The clement sky held until they reached the western edge of Tierra del Fuego and moved northward into deeper ocean. There the East and West Furies came together, and so many breakers disturbed the ocean’s surface, early explorers had named it the Milky Way.

  Storm clouds crouched on the horizon, hanging low and dark. The sea churned, buffeted the ship, and made passage along the deck perilous. The captain ordered lines strung as handholds and commanded the women to retire below deck.

  Samantha languished in the cabin beneath the wind’s roar—screaming around the ship, growing in strength—as hard rain pellets struck the deck. The cabin floor pitched and bucked. Sailors’ shouts, words shredded by the rising wind, came from overhead. Gilly and Chloe huddled on the bunk and clutched each other, moaning and whining nearly as loudly as the wind. Samantha snapped at them and savaged her fingernails. Delia took the storm in stride, sitting in a captain’s chair bolted to the deck while she sewed and timbers groaned around her. Meanwhile, the ship shivered and screeched, plunged into and out of deep swells.

  When Samantha had gnawed her fingernails to the quick, she threw herself out of the hammock onto the sloping deck. “I cannot remain here any longer! I must go up to see if I can help.”

  “I’m sure you mean well,” Aunt Delia said, looking up from her sewing, “but the captain said we would be safer in our cabin.”

  “Not if this ship should plunge to the ocean bottom.” Her reply elicited another loud wail from Chloe and Gilly. “Forgive me, but I must get out of here.”

  She careened to the door and clambered up the ladder. Cold wind and rain blasted her in the face before she reached the top. By the time she crawled out on deck, the rain had turned to sleet. Biting wind whipped her skirt around her legs and threw her hair into her face. Sitting on the slippery boards, she tied her hair into a knot at her neck before climbing to her feet again. As the ship plummeted, she staggered, her legs braced far apart, buffeted by icy rain and sleet, tossed about by howling wind and a pitching deck.

  Men ran in all directions, yelled into the wind, pulled in sail, and lashed down cargo. Samantha struggled against the gale and heaving planks to make her way forward, hugging a mast when a frigid wave smashed against her back. It soaked her clothes and almost swept her overboard. Clinging to the timber, she lifted her tearing eyes to the rigging, where sailors scrambled and climbed the ropes like spiders on a gigantic web. They swayed to the ship’s violent movements, furling sails and untangling lines.

  She gasped. Over her head, Cullen hung upside down, halfway up the rigging, from a line wrapped around one leg. She screamed for help, but the wind stole her words, casting them overboard. The closest men, intent on their own missions, failed to note Cullen’s predicament. When the mast holding the rigging cracked and leaned, she released a sharp cry, then pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling.

  Ripping off her skirt and petticoats, she flung them into the wind. In her blouse, short chemise, and pantalets, she scaled the rigging. Ice coating the ropes froze and deadened her hands, but she clung to the netting. When her boots’ leather soles slipped, she kicked them off and let them fall to the deck. She continued upward, keeping her gaze fixed on Cullen far above.

  Samantha had almost reached the boy when a faint shout came from below. She dared not look down, terrified her courage would abandon her. She was so very close. When she came alongside Cullen, she grasped his freezing arm in her icy hand and pulled him forward, allowing him to grab the rigging above and untangle his leg.

  “Can you climb down?” she shouted.

  His eyes round with fear and his lashes coated with frozen tears, he nodded and began his descent.

  She glanced down. ‘Twas a dreadful mistake. The world spun before her eyes, and a vise gripped her vitals. Clutching her arms about the rigging, she closed her eyes. She could not possibly climb down! Her chest cramped with vertigo and constricted her breathing. She would die up here, an icicle frozen to the ropes. The sailors would have to cut off her stiffened limbs to fetch her down.

  Out of nowhere, a strong arm curled around her waist. A warm body moved up behind her and leaned against her back. Large hands gripped the rigging above hers.

  “I have you!” Christian shouted, unbuttoning his heavy coat with one hand. “Turn about and put your arms around my neck.”

  She could not do it, could not let go.

  “I gave you an order, Sam!” When she remained frozen in place, he pried her arms off the ropes and turned her upper body into his chest. “You’re safe now. Wrap your arms around my neck like you did when I kissed you.” Her arms crept up, then clasped him with all her strength. “Good girl. Now put your legs around my waist.” He had to help her, but soon her thighs gripped his waist as tightly as her arms squeezed his neck. With some difficulty, he fastened one button on his coat behind her back. “Keep your eyes closed. I’m taking you down.”

  Christian descended the rigging with her clinging to him like a leech, snug under his coat. Tears ran down her face to mix with the rain and sleet soaking his shirt. She could breathe again but shivered from a bone-chilling cold.

  When he reached the deck, he carried her to her cabin. In front of the astonished looks on the faces of the women, he unbuttoned his coat, peeled Samantha off his chest, and wrapped her in a blanket.

  “Dry her off, get her warm, and don’t allow her to leave this cabin again!” he barked and stalked back out into the storm.

  The tempest blew itself out hours later, and Christian, having changed into dry clothes, returned to Samantha’s cabin. Without saying a word, he hooked a muscular arm around her waist and picked her up. Tucking her against his hip, he carted her into his cabin, tossed her onto the bunk, and bolted the door on his way out.

  That night, Samantha lay on Christian’s bunk and tried to close her ears to the thud of a basketball on deck overhead. The sound had become a familiar one when she was in Christian’s bad graces.

  Samantha endured a full week on bread and water for disobeying orders. Why did she not see this coming? If she’d only planned ahead, she could have stowed clean clothes and extra food in Christian’s cabin before he returned for her. She cursed her dirty, hungry state. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly. Oh well, now she could finish her book.

  By the time Christian released her from his cabin, which Samantha now openly referred to as “the brig,” the ship sat at anchor in a cove off the western coast of Chile. When she arrived on deck, the men were scuttling about and replacing the cracked mast. She avoided Christian and found Jasper in the galley. He piled a plate high with food and shook a finger in her face.

  “Though your actions were heroic, you took a witless risk. Thank the good Lord Chris saw you, or you would still be hanging from that rigging. The ice would have stiffened your body so completely, we could have used you for a figurehead on the prow.” He chuckled.

  Samantha pulled a face. “I know. Refrain from feeding me a lecture. Simply feed me! I served my time in the brig. If he should lock me up again, I’ll become so skinny he’ll be unable to find me. I shall merely turn sideways and disappear at will.”

  “Now watch your cheeky mouth, especially around Chris,” he warned. “That man has a temper.”

  “I am well acquainted with his temper, thank you very much. His wrath puts to shame the wrath of God,” she replied while stuffing her face.

  Jasper tsked and shook his finger again. “You should learn some manners, young lady.”

  She talked around a mouthful of the drumstick of some mainland game bird. “Not before Chris does. ‘Tis he who lacks manners. Perhaps you should suggest he attend Aunt Delia’s decorum classes.”

  A few days after Samantha’s release, Christian strolled into the galley. When he crooked a finger at Samantha, she looked at him with suspicion. “Do you intend to yell at me or toss me in the brig again?”

  “My plans didn’t include it. Have you a guilty conscience?”

  “I do
not,” she mumbled.

  “Glad to hear it. I wished only to speak with you.”

  “About what? Can we not speak here?”

  He shook his head and walked away. “When your curiosity gets the best of you, you can find me outside.”

  She felt safer in the galley with Jasper close at hand, but the cook gave her a pointed look and nodded. “Go to him. He would not hurt you.”

  “Indeed.” She blew out a breath. “He would not lay a finger on me but contents himself with starving me to death.”

  “Is fear the reason you avoid him? Are you truly so timid?”

  Samantha untied her apron and slapped it on the weathered wooden table. “Most certainly not.”

  She found Christian aft, hunkered on his heels, coiling rope. Samantha sat on the deck in front of him, drew up her knees to her chest, and hugged them. While she waited for him to complete his task, she quietly admired his strong body and rugged face. How could a man who looked so delicious be so sour? When he finished with the rope, he lay on his side facing her, propped on an elbow with one leg stretched out and the other bent at the knee. He perused her for a long minute, his eyes giving away nothing. She chafed under his thorough inspection.

  “Would you enjoy leaving the ship on an animal expedition?” he finally said. “We’re approaching a small island I visited once before. I asked the captain to lay up for a few days now that we’re through the Drake Passage and entering calmer waters. The men deserve a bit of sun and relaxation on the beach after freezing in Tierra del Fuego and repairing the mast.”

  His words poked her brain with a sharp stick. “I believe we agreed to make all haste to Tasmania. Have you some nefarious plot to deposit me on an isolated speck of land where I shall be required to survive on lizards and coconuts?”

  He chuckled. “I hardly think ridding myself of you would be to my advantage, as tempting as the notion may be.”

  Despite his smile, she detected a nuance of affront lurking about his eyes. “Then why pause our journey now?”

  “We also require new water stores. We lost many casks in the storm, and the island will be our last landfall for weeks.”

  “How long would we be gone?”

  “Three days.”

  She tilted her head toward Garrett and Chloe, who chatted by the railing. “Are the others coming along?”

  “No. Only you and I.” His gaze ran over her gown. “Of course, you’ll have to shed those clothes.”

  Her spine snapped rigid. “I beg your pardon?”

  His eyes twinkled, and he laughed. “I only meant you’ll have to wear trousers. The terrain is rough and no place for skirts. I would think you could fit into a pair of Cullen’s old trousers.”

  “You’ve been planning this trip all along, have you not? It explains the book you gave me to read.”

  “I trust you had sufficient time to finish it. Bring it along. You might have need of it.” When she remained silent, he asked, “Did you enjoy it?”

  “The plot was dreadfully slow, but I found the characters intriguing.”

  He chuckled and got to his feet. “I’m pleased to see you’ve managed to retain your sense of humor. However, you’ve sorely tested mine on this voyage. See Cullen for some suitable clothing, and I’ll take care of the rest. We anchor in a cove off the island tonight. I’ll meet you on deck, prepared to go, at dawn.”

  Samantha climbed topside, clad in Cullen’s old clothing. Christian eyed her from a distance. The outfit strained at the seams, but it would be more appropriate than one of her gowns. When she strolled up to him, he inhaled sharply at the curve of her hips in the tight-fitting trousers, her small, firm breasts jutting against the shirt’s thin material. He handed her a wide-brimmed straw hat. “Wear this to keep the sun off your face.” She turned and walked away. “And for God’s sake, don’t …”

  When she bent down to collect her pack, his hand itched, and he stepped up behind her to pat her tempting bottom so nicely displayed beneath the tight wool. She straightened with a gasp. He grinned and winked. “Nice fit, Sam.”

  She sputtered, struggled into the pack’s straps, and settled them over her shoulders, a blush covering her face.

  He picked up his pack, went to the ladder leading over the side, and climbed down into the dinghy.

  As Christian pulled on the oars, he granted Samantha a smile. She returned it, all innocent and unsuspecting. Were she able to interpret his thoughts, her sunny mood would flee in an instant. Wait until she encountered live wildlife, the kind existing outside the London Zoo. Suffered from exposure to extremes of heat and cold, constant dirt, prickly plants, and biting insects. Experienced firsthand a lack of privacy. Limped along on sore feet and nursed an aching back. Then she would be content to remain safely ensconced in Hobart. His smile inched into a grin.

  Samantha trudged behind Christian across the island’s arid landscape and entered a fantasy world. They traversed bizarre terrain so extraordinarily alien, as though the ship had landed them on another planet, perhaps Mars, instead of an island in the Pacific. She always believed the tropical oceanic islands consisted solely of green, moist jungle, huge ferns, and overhanging vines. The area through which they traveled was as far from jungle as was her London drawing room.

  Few trees graced the sandy plain, and those were twisted into grotesque shapes, as though tortured by a sadistic gardener. When she rubbed her palms against the trunks, gray, hairy bark flaked off. The wood beneath was ironlike, dry and dense. Sparse, grayish green leaves drooped from the branch tips, and when she touched one, it felt fat, waxy, and smooth.

  They encountered little wildlife. A few circling hawks and the occasional lizard or beetle scurrying across the hot sand. A brown fox darted across her path in pursuit of a strange mouse hopping ahead of it on impossibly long back legs. Misshapen cacti, scattered amongst the trees, arose in the near distance, and a small, curious, wrenlike bird flitted around one tall cactus, sticking a sharp probe into holes on the plant’s surface. Samantha looked for Christian to ask him what the bird was doing, but he ranged far ahead, and she lacked the strength to catch up with him.

  Her pack grew heavier with every step, and the straps cut painfully into her shoulders. Christian had set a brisk pace, and with her shorter legs, she found it difficult to keep up. The hot—no, searing air dried her throat and sucked the moisture from her skin, like walking through a furnace. Was it truly December? Snow would have fallen in Boston by now, but here at the bottom of the world, high summer reigned.

  Despite her discomfort, she reveled in the open space and the freedom, especially the freedom of wearing trousers. She questioned why society had condemned women to drafty, unwieldy skirts for so many centuries. If every woman should have the opportunity to wear trousers, just once, they would soon be all the rage. Skirts, petticoats, and corsets could be naught but a male plot designed to keep women in bondage, and she resolved to acquire several sets of male trousers when she returned to England.

  Several hours went by, and her ache evolved into acute physical pain. She cast a glance at Chris’s back, far in the distance. “Chris?” she gasped as loudly as her parched throat would allow.

  In the still, dry air, her plea carried to his ears, for he halted and turned around.

  She commanded her aching legs to trot forward until she drew alongside him. “May we take a short break? Your legs are longer than mine, and you are walking too fast. I’m not accustomed to carrying a pack. It hurts my shoulders.”

  “An animal expedition has several rules,” he said with a patronizing expression and in a similar tone. “First, to actually find animals, you must refrain from talking. Second, this is not a stroll through Regent’s Park. If you cannot keep up the pace because you have shorter legs, walk faster. And third, my pack is heavier than yours. If you wished to carry a lighter load, you should have packed fewer items.”

  Her face fell. “But you are larger than me. Your pack should be heavier.”

  “Do you wis
h to trade?”

  She closed her mouth, though she had a notion to remind him that he had filled the packs, not she.

  Turning away, he focused on the horizon. “No? Then allow us to move on—quietly. I want to cover more territory before we stop. We’ll take a break about an hour from now.” He nodded toward a steep ridge in the distance.

  She groaned and shifted the pack, moving it a scant inch off the grooves in her shoulders.

  When he finally called a halt in a depression shaded by a line of stunted trees straggling along a creek, Samantha dropped her pack with a grimace. She stumbled past him and knelt beside the creek, cupping her hands and splashing water over her face and neck.

  He allowed her to rest for an hour before he stood and came to her side. “Ready?”

  She mumbled to herself and struggled to her feet.

  Christian walked to the creek and dipped his canteen into the water before taking off at a more modest speed. Samantha missed his detour as she fought with her pack and tried to find the least painful position. Three hours out into the hot sun, she ran out of water. “Chris, may I have a drink of your water? My canteen is empty.”

  “Rule number four, always fill your canteen when you have access to fresh water. You never know how far you might have to walk to the next water hole. Next time, use your head.” In spite of his chastising words, he passed her his canteen and allowed her to drink.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  By the time they made camp, light was fleeing rapidly on the short-lived heels of a tropical dusk. The lowering sun hit the cacti, throwing Brobdingnagian shadows—like the giant characters in Gulliver’s Travels—stretching across the barren plain. Samantha staggered, and sweat drenched her clothes. She could not even remove the pack. When she raised her arms, cramping pain seized her shoulders and back.

  Christian came over and lifted the pack. “Why did you not tell me the straps were cutting into your shoulders?” he asked, his voice thick with concern.