Breakwater Beach

by Carole Ann Moleti

  Edward’s hair stood on end. The queer metallic smell that preceded a waterspout stung his nostrils. The hull of the ship trembled as water boiled around it.

  The crew struggled to maintain their positions as the ship swayed. With each swell, one or two went over. Howling wind drowned out the death screams.

  “Help me, Captain. Sir!” Billy, the cabin boy, clung to a jagged piece of railing, his legs dangling overboard.

  Edward grabbed his arm. Billy clutched him so tightly fingernails dug into his flesh.

  “Don’t let me die, sir.” The boy’s eyes were as wide as saucers. His shoulder dislocated and he shrieked in pain.

  Edward braced himself and hauled him back onto the deck. The lad’s shirt tore and Edward’s fingers, numb with cold, lost their grip.

  Edward watched as Billy went under and never re-surfaced, his final wail cut off at the peak. He shook off the image of abject terror on the child’s face. The child who had served him well, looked up to him like a father, obeyed every command, listened to every piece of advice as if it were the gospel of the Lord. He couldn’t dwell on it now. A clear head. He needed a clear head or they would all be lost.

  The survivors chopped away, one-handed, holding on with the other for their lives. Saturated hemp resisted. A rumble emanated from the hold as the cargo shifted. The funnel cloud spun closer.

  “Bloody hell!” Breathless, Edward staggered to help, wiping sodden hair from his eyes. A gash on his face seared and droplets of blood stained his shirt crimson. His pulse pounded with each desperate swing.

  Wind spiraled, raising several men up like paper dolls and blowing them overboard. Debris pelted the few remaining. Edward felt himself drawn up into the air then thrown to the deck. He gasped as the wind was knocked out of him. Bloody water streamed down his arms.

  “Done here, sir,” said a man from the port side.

  “And just about here, Captain,” said another from starboard. “That’s it, all clear!”

  Edward struggled to his feet, clutching his abdomen, struggling to catch his breath. “The funnel cloud has passed. We should be all right now. On the count of three, then.” He helped Kyle free his line. “Push with all you’ve got. One, two, three. Now!”

  The engine on the starboard side disappeared into the roiling seas. On the other, the front end of the engine remained tangled in cut ropes as the back went over the gunwales. The ship listed hard to port. Edward tried to make his way across. A wave crashed over the deck from the starboard side. Those that hadn’t been tossed off already dropped overboard. Something he could only assume was the mast snapped. Splintered wood crashed around them, impaling men that lay dead or dying.

  Time stopped. Vauxhall lay motionless, his head nearly torn off, his eyes wide in a stare that bored into Edward’s soul. The body, ensnared by cut ropes, dangled overboard on a bizarre gallows as the ship went over.

  The Sea Mist wouldn’t be coming back this time. He was the only one left alive, just punishment for killing every one of his crew by his own foolish selfishness. Whatever gods ruled the seas, and his own God, had spoken.

  As much as he’d justified past transgressions, they couldn’t be erased. And for this one, for all the widows and orphans, maimed bodies and blood spattered sails, his hell would be an eternity to relive memories of each man’s last moments and the pain left behind in his wake.

  Edward flung the now useless axe at the engine dragging the ship down. He raised his gaze and his arms toward the angry heavens. Sobs racked his body as he slid across the deck into the maelstrom. His lungs filled with freezing water. All those broken promises to his wife, and to all the women who would never see their men again, all the children, fatherless and starving. All because of him.

  “I’m sorry, Elisabeth! God grant me forgiveness for this, my most grievous sin!” His words became soundless bubbles in the blackness.

  The air was laden with the sweat of gathering storm clouds. Shutters banged against the house. Wind drove the rain through open windows, soaking the velvet and damask draperies. Puddles formed on the parquet floors.

  Elisabeth stared at the roiling bay, crumpling Edward’s cable in her hands. A terror like nothing she had ever experienced circled around her like falcons after carrion. She couldn’t live without Edward, she didn’t want to live without Edward.

  An eerie howl answered. Sara slammed shutters closed and secured them against the wind.

  “Edward! You promised to come back for me. Why didn’t you come back for me?” Elisabeth climbed the stairs and stepped out onto the widow’s walk. The wind spiraled and whipped her hair into a tangle over her face. She clutched the railing as her feet rose off the floor. “Take me, Edward. Take me with you!”

  “You’re mad!” Sara dragged her into the cramped staircase. “You’ll be blown from the roof.”

  “Edward is calling to me. I must go to him.” She struggled free. She had to get back up there. She had to hear what he was saying. She had to find him.

  “‘Tis the wind.” Sara struggled to keep Elisabeth from going back outside.

  “He’s not answering. Edward was calling me but now I can’t hear him.” Elisabeth gave up fighting and slumped against the wall.

  Sara guided her back down to the master suite and sat her on the chaise. “They’ve weathered many a storm. Let me get some dry things for you.”

  “Please go.” Elisabeth pushed the sodden mat of hair out of her eyes, tired of the maid’s platitudes and grudging service.

  “I will not go back up there after you, you fool!” Sara wagged an accusing finger and left, shivering, dripping, glowering.

  Fear coursed through Elisabeth’s veins like ice water, freezing out any other emotion, dousing the remaining sparks of hope, quenching every flicker of her dream.

  “Edward,” she whispered, “Remember what you promised.”

  Chapter 23

  February 1877

  “The lavender will keep these things fresh until you have need for them again. Did you really want to store away your favourite nightgown?” Katherine’s voice was soft, full of pity.

  The trunk lid slammed shut, locking away Elisabeth’s painful memories, broken promises, foolish dreams.

  “You’re much more comfortable in simple clothes.” Despite everything, Katherine remained patient, optimistic.

  “Yes, while we’re farming and running a rooming house. Until the Captain comes home, of course.” Elisabeth went to the window and looked out over the bay. Where are you, Edward? What happened?

  “It’s been seven months.” Sara peeked out of the closet where she’d been rearranging dresses.

  Elisabeth’s patience for her acrimony had long since worn thin. “No other ships found debris or any evidence they went down. They could be stranded somewhere. There are stories of sea captains coming back after shipwrecks more than a year after they disappeared.”

  “Yes, of course. Well, when he comes home, we’ll take everything back out and carry on as before.” Katherine dragged her sister into the closet.

  “All I want is my husband. Nothing else means anything to me.” Elisabeth left her room.

  As she ascended the steep staircase to the widow’s walk, she heard Sara.

  “Help me push this trunk into the back of the wardrobe and turn it backwards so she won’t be tempted to open it and sob over each and everything inside. When is she going to accept the truth?”

  Metal scraped over wood. The sound irritated Elisabeth even further.

  “She has faith the Captain is going to come home,” Katherine answered. “There’s no harm in that.”

  “I’m trying to convince her to go back to London, but she stands up there for hours at a time, in every kind of weather, looking for him, refusing to leave until he comes back.”

  “
Everyone is free to hope for miracles, Sara. Sometimes, prayers are answered you know.”

  “She’s been living in a dream since she met him. Threw her whole life away, for what? They spent no more than three months together since they married. And now we’re all in a fix.”

  The truth in Sara’s words stung. Elisabeth wrapped her shawl tighter and stepped out onto the widow’s walk, watching the whitecaps on the bay, hoping against all odds that The Sea Mist would sail back in, battered and damaged, but with Edward still at the helm. If she’d been with him, she would still be at his side, even if it was at the bottom of the ocean. Loneliness bored into her like the tiny insects did into the wooden railing. She brushed away a teeming mound lest they do more damage she couldn’t afford to have repaired.

  Her legs barely carried her downstairs, but she couldn’t bear to sit alone in the parlour to wile away another long, lonely day. Katherine and Sara chattered in the kitchen, and she went past without a word.

  Elisabeth found Paul by the stable. “Could you take me to Bethea’s?”

  “Of course, Elisabeth.” His smile was kind, and he helped her to a seat on a tack box. “Rest here, inside, while I get the carriage. It’s cold.”

  In just a few minutes, they were on the way down the rutted road to the farmhouse.

  “I’m off to the store for feed and will return shortly for you.” Paul clucked, and Bump snorted and stomped off, his breath steaming around the bit.

  Elisabeth slogged through the snow, wondering when the store’s proprietor would ask to collect on her account.

  “Look who’s here to visit,” Clement Vauxhall said, welcoming her inside.

  Bethea hoisted herself up and greeted her friend with a hug. “Nothing yet. The babe is active, but no pains or water.”

  Clement and Addie busied themselves elsewhere while they talked.

  “I felt lonely and wanted some company.” Did her friend think of Kyle each time the baby kicked?

  “Yes, I understand.” Bethea took her hands.

  “Aren’t you afraid? Of labour, of being alone?”

  “No. If I die or the babe, or both of us, we’ll be with Kyle and Caleb. If we survive, it’s Kyle’s way of telling me to go on. I’ve faced the death of my son and husband, my own seems easier.”

  “You’re very brave, Bethea.”

  “I think you’re the one with courage. This is the life I was born into. You left behind ease and comfort and came to a new country. You have no family and lost your husband.” Bethea’s gentle fortitude and quiet acceptance spread through the room like warmth from the hearth.

  “I don’t feel brave. I can’t accept Edward is dead and I don’t know what to do next.” Reality penetrated the denial, and tears flowed.

  Bethea embraced her. “You’re not alone, Elisabeth. And there might be another man in your life one day. You’re still so young and beautiful.”

  Feeling neither youthful nor attractive, Elisabeth thought it best to leave as to not upset her friend so close to her confinement. “Paul will be here any moment. Summon me when the pains start.”

  “I will, Elisabeth.” Bethea accompanied her to the door

  Paul was already waiting outside and helped her in. He handed her the post.

  Her hands trembled as she tore open the telegraph from Neville Somersell.

  Elisabeth struggled to comprehend what Ebenezer Wilcox was saying.

  The barrister’s voice remained deep and patient. “Mr. Somersell has attached the property to secure his interests. He has a contract signed by Captain Barrett reserving the right to recover revenue for cargo lost at sea from the captain in command of the ship.”

  He pointed to specific passages in the papers Somersell had served her. “The sum of three thousand dollars for the loss of two steam engines being transported to Miami accounts for approximately two-thirds of the value of Edward’s estate. He had Edward declared legally dead and filed a lien on the house, less a small sum your husband had in his account at the time of his death.”

  Elisabeth wished she would awaken from this bad dream. “Mr. Wilcox, what happens now? What redress do I have?”

  Wilcox sat back in his seat. “Edward’s will, which I prepared, leaves you as the sole heir and gives you the authority to manage all financial transactions. Unfortunately, Mr. Somersell is exercising his rights at your expense. He can authorize the sale of the property unless you pay the outstanding sum.”

  “I’m prepared to sell my jewellry and some livestock. I also have silver, china, and clothing.” Most of it she cared nothing about, but her horses . . .

  “You can try, but the market for those things is not great here. Perhaps you’d have more luck in Boston. Can you borrow money from your family?”

  “They’re unlikely to do anything to help. I’ll go speak to Mr. Somersell myself.” Elisabeth tried to rise, but despair had weighed her down, weakened her legs.

  Wilcox pushed back his chair, walked to her side, and offered his arm. “You can do that, Mrs. Barrett, but please do not go alone or agree to anything until you discuss it with me. I’ll delve into this further, but the law is clear. You’d be left with the balance of the funds after the lien is satisfied, which might be enough to purchase a small homestead.”

  She looked up at him, fearing his response. “And the bill for your services, Mr. Wilcox?”

  The barrister placed his hand on her shoulder, the expression on his face filled with pity. The same one she’d likely had when handing out alms and packages of food to widows and urchins in the London slums.

  “Eh, your husband gave me a retainer at the time his will was drawn. All matters pertaining to administration of his estate are covered.” He escorted her to the door. “Good day, Mrs. Barrett, and I am truly sorry.”

  “Thank you for you kindness, Mr. Wilcox. I will be in touch.” Elisabeth eased her way down the icy steps like an arthritic old woman. Every muscle ached, her head throbbed, and her heart hurt. She got into the small carriage and encouraged Ruddy along. She’d sell the larger one, and the other three horses, but could not part with her mare. It pained her heart to think of them being overworked or abused, but the money Edward had given her was exhausted and she had to pay expenses.

  Ruddy preferred a saddle to the harness and needed much coaxing to settle into her stride. Every bone in Elisabeth’s body ached from the damp chill. She’d lost her gloves, and by the time she arrived home, her hands were blistered from the stiff leather reins.

  Paul took Ruddy to cool her down and didn’t ask. She pondered how to tell them she’d have to let them all go. Elisabeth sank into a parlour chair and stared into the flickering fire until the logs burnt through and collapsed into ash and a few sparks. Like her life.

  Sara’s hand on her shoulder startled Elisabeth out of the wandering thoughts.

  “Are you all right, Elisabeth?”

  The smouldering wood chips glowed bright orange; acrid smoky ash burned her throat. “The owner of the shipping company is forcing the sale of this house to pay off Edward’s liabilities. I thought we could make do selling our eggs and milk, and taking in guests, but it seems we have no home.”

  “What will you do?” Paul’s smile was gone and worry lined his face.

  “I need you to sell Bump, Jump, Smooch, and the large carriage. I’m going to see Mr. Somersell, to appeal to his sense of honour. I hope to influence him to let me pay off the debt bit by bit. There are still a lot of other things to barter with.”

  “Perhaps we should ask Jared’s advice,” Paul said.

  “He’ll know what to do,” Katherine said.

  “Perhaps, but in the meanwhile there are bills to be paid.”

  “I’m going to fetch Jared.” Sara rushed off.

  Elisabeth couldn’t move. Even breathing was difficult.
No one in Brewster could afford, or had use for anything in the house. Her clothes were worthless, expensive rags. They needed the cow for milk, and at least one horse and carriage.

  Letting out rooms, well, that was an option though highly improper. Two women alone with strangers. Unless Paul and Katherine moved into the house and Sara into the cottage. Perhaps the general store would take eggs and milk in exchange for provisions, seeds, animal feed. Thank goodness Sara had made a hobby out of canning and preserving food and making butter and cheese.

  Katherine tossed another log into the fireplace while Paul paced. They both departed without a word as Jared came in, his hat in his hands, still wearing an overcoat.

  “Mrs. Barrett, I am so sorry. Sara has told me what transpired.” He sat next to her on the sofa.

  A thought came to her. “Thank you, Mr. Sanders. I wonder if I might ask a favour.”

  “Anything.”

  “I need to go to Boston to sell some of my things and meet with Neville Somersell. I can’t take Paul. Someone has to look after things here. I would feel much more comfortable if you’d accompany Sara and me.”

  “I’d be happy to go with you, Mrs. Barrett. Would you like me to book rail passage?” Jared looked genuinely pleased, which eased Elisabeth’s misgivings.

  The thought of boarding a train sickened her stomach. “Two steam engines caused Edward’s death and the loss of everyone on the ship. It would betray their memories if we went by train. Please understand.”

  His smile and agreeable nature were never more welcome. “Very well. I’ll make arrangements to go by ship, once I speak to Mr. Wilcox about the necessary details. And Mrs. Barrett, under the circumstances might I call you Elisabeth?”

  “Yes, please do, Jared.”