***
The ship has held a steady eastern course for the port of Appledore. I'd gotten the hang of my sea legs and took a turn on deck with my white lace parasol shielding my face. Some of the younger tars removed their caps in my presence which I nodded in appreciation. Cathcart was in the wheelhouse, issuing orders to the First Mate, a thin sallow-faced Arab by the name of Jamal. The Arab was a curiosity to mine eyes though he spoke naught but his heathen language. Robert spoke to him in it, syllables seeming to consist of luls and aahs.
Presently, the captain emerged shaking his head. "Stubborn fellow," he complained. I swept my skirts aside, loving the salted breeze. The deck pitched and dipped, the bow lowering and falling. "He claims there's another way to our destination."
"How?" I asked.
"Through the straits. I've told him over and over again, they're unpredictable at this time of year. Jamal claims his Berber forebears sailed through there in all weather, searching for the promised land."
"Aye, the infidel will say anything."
"But, what do you say, missy?" He asked in jest, eyes twinkling.
I knew what I longed to say but held my own counsel. I'd been learning as of late to restrain my willful tongue. "Wherever the captain goes, his crew will follow."
"Even unto their deaths?"
Jamal had glanced from the wheelhouse porthole window, his dark gaze scrutinized us with an odd intensity. Suddenly, it struck me that he might know more of Nuhl Ait, but even that was futile. I could no more speak his language than sway Cathcart to my wishes. The reminder of my own powerlessness clove my tongue to the roof of my mouth. Rather than speak more to the teasing effect of the captain, I turned around quite haughtily, my skirts swishing.
Without fail, the calling card came on a silver platter, but I begged off with a headache, sending my own folded card in response. When supper came, a thick burgoo of savory oatmeal; a polite knock followed. The ship's surgeon, Mister Carmichael, peered in. "How're you, Miss Willamette?"
"Slightly under the weather," I murmured, stirring the worst of the heat from my spoonful. "I believe I caught a chill taking a turn above."
"Ah, ah, don't tell the captain that. He'll never let you out of this cabin. He feels responsible for your well-being now."
How silly!
I didn't say as much to Mister Carmichael, however lost I'd been before, I refused abjectly to accept another handout.
"With God's great mercy on our side, the elder Miss Willamette will be returned to the living and I....," couldn't stay on her as burden. My chest tightened and I tried to think of other things. Happy things.
Mister Carmichael prescribed a hot toddy which was brought by Jarsdel promptly. He then admonished my tendency to read under the bed covers as damaging to the sight. Patting my head once like a puppy that needed comfort, he left me with a gentle goodnight.
"I will likely be a Governess," said I to myself. I liked children fairly much...
But, why should I leave her? It bothered me...that, how could I leave her? It wasn't right or fair at all! Since our parents...I hadn't had another person to call my own other than Jess. Nobody to care for me or care when I was hurt. It wasn't fair at all! In moments like this, I despised Robert for taking her away from me.
It was he...the man she glimpsed in the gardens of Lady Morley's Farthingale Hall, that so entranced her. Older, with a profitable merchant's business, retired from his long seafaring voyages. My sister was indescribably lovely in the summer of her first season; I'd always been in her shadow, chaperoning her to various balls in plain brown satins, stormy taffeta. I danced none while she lit up every ball with her smile.
I always knew that I'd lose her to one of the handsome swains that flocked around her like many monochromatic birds in tails. Captain Cathcart was different than them. He wasn't exciting nor young with witty talk. I liked him at first, then grew to dislike him when it was certain, he wouldn't flitter away after a night's fancy.
He even gave her a ring with a pearl flat and smooth with a faint color like that of a maiden's blush. Shades of our arguments hovered phantom-like over my sleep, forcing me to relive every moment of the rupture before the end.
We'd fought terribly while Captain Cathcart waited in the foyer to be received. Our raised voices must've caused quite a stir; she struck me and I screamed. I hate you...I hate you! I wish you'd go away! Had I truly said those things to her? Jessamyn's bosom heaved, her face was a torrent of emotion. She stormed from the house leaving an awkward silence in her wake. Robert had comforted me in her absence, drying my childish tears, apologizing for his inability to soothe my fears.
It was then that my feelings toward him begun to change. Rather than a threat to my way of life, he'd possibly become our protector. I wished later that I had been able to tell Jessamyn that. I would've told her I approved of her betrothal, we'd all live together and somehow be happy. But, then she left. Setting sail on a small passenger ship with the pretense of seeking a contact of father's. She'd return in a month's time...together, I thought, Cathcart and I would be there to meet her at the docks.
My sister vanished from the face of the earth, four months ago.
I awoke calling her name, the last vestiges of the nightmare I'd been living every single day torn asunder by the howling of the wind. The ship bucked and bounced, plunging, swooping on massive waves. I knew as much, tumbling from my bed, watching the light die in the wildly swinging lanterns. Frightened men shouted aft, heavy work boots thudded up and down the corridor. Stunned from the blow of landing on the canting floor, I scrambled up, throwing my ruffled robe over my nightdress.
Somehow, managing to stand, I pushed the door back on its slider, stumbling out into the pitch black corridor. There was a wetness in the air along with a terrible shrieking...like a woman crying out in pain. "Jess...?" I stared wildly around, my heart slamming hard into my chest. Stumbling toward the ladderway, I wrapped my hands around the rungs propelling myself up into the thick of it all.
Captain Cathcart stood beneath the mainmast, tall with his shirt loosely buttoned over dark blue trousers. He shouted orders, gesturing wildly to be heard. The deck pitched; men cursed, falling to their hands and knees. I slammed hard onto my side, sliding across the pitching deck. The air left my lungs, the cold wet of ocean spray lashed our faces.
For a moment, I felt myself swept backward again, lifting my frightened eyes to the man who clenched a long tethered rope. Our eyes met and Cathcart formed the syllables of my name – that single second lasted an eternity, then my back struck the gunwales, rolling end over end into the sea.
Siren's Call Page 2
