by Jane Goodger
“It will be cooler than below deck. And far more comfortable, I’m sure,” West said, rocking from heel to toe, arms behind his back, as he showed Sara her new accommodations.
“It’s nice,” she said, taking in the narrow bunk already made up with her quilt from below deck. He didn’t think she would say anything else until she softly said, “Is this truly necessary?”
He’d nodded curtly. “It is.”
Sara stepped into the cabin, her face burning with humiliation that he should banish her from what had become her home. The cabin, while small, was perfectly acceptable, she told herself. It was clean and had windows that allowed in a cooling breeze. It even had a tiny, built-in writing desk and book shelf. Someone—she was quite certain it wasn’t West—had put a small flowering plant on the desk, and she walked over to it, her hand drifting over one of the waxy petals.
Sara cursed her heart that wrenched at the thought that he had placed the plant there simply to please her.
“Mr. Billings thought you would like it,” came his gruff voice.
A wave of disappointment swept over her, punctuating the truth that she loved him still. “Please tell him thank you.”
“You may tell him tonight. At dinner.”
Sara turned to him, hating the fact she still thought him the most handsome of men, that her heart skipped a beat just to look at him. He was leaning a forearm against the cabin’s entrance, his ankles were crossed, in a pose that gave him the air of deceptive nonchalance. For all his relaxed stance, he seemed to be a man a heartbeat away from lunging at a foe. He had discarded his necktie and waistcoat and wore only a crisp white shirt, open at the neck. His dark brown hair ruffled a bit in the wind, his expression was that of slight irritation. What had they been talking about?
“Dinner,” Sara muttered with a mental shake. “I’ll be taking my meals in here,” she said, and readied herself for another verbal battle.
“Very well.” He turned and walked away, and Sara sank down onto the bunk, the very picture of dejection. She wanted him to argue, to demand that she join him for dinner, to act as heavy-handed as she knew he could be when he wanted something. Clearly, he did not want her. Not anymore, not if wanting her might mean something more than grappling together in a swinging bed.
“Hey there.”
Sara looked up to find her brother standing hesitantly by the door. “Welcome to my new home,” she said with a small wave of her hand.
“It’s for the best.” Zachary walked into the room and sat his lanky form on her single chair. It was one of the few items on the ship not nailed down, so he swung it around and straddled it, leaning his elbows on the back.
“I’m certain you’re correct,” Sara said, wishing her cheeks weren’t blushing crimson. “We don’t get along. It was foolish to think we could last together the entire trip.” She avoided her brother’s searching gaze, praying he hadn’t guessed what truly happened between her and West. She’d die of mortification if he knew. “Has he told you that I’m to leave for home when we reach Hilo?”
“He has.” Zachary rubbed a thoughtful finger across mustache. “The men believe you two had an argument about a certain girl West visited on the island.”
Sara took a deep breath, hating that anyone was talking about her, feeling sorry for her. “It’s just as well. Now he can send me home and can go one with his life. He can even tell people we are divorcing.” Sara let out a bitter laugh. “In fact, that would resolve the entire problem when he returns to New Bedford wifeless.”
“Is that what you argued about? The girl?”
Sara nearly lied, but found she could not. “No. We didn’t argue at all.”
“Then why have you been banished to this storage locker?” Zachary demanded, beginning to sound angry.
“I haven’t been banished anywhere. We simply cannot abide each other.”
“Well, then,” Zachary said, slapping his hands down upon the chair’s back. “That’s a relief. I’d thought that perhaps it was the opposite happening. You seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time with each other, and the captain had been acting a bit distracted lately. I actually thought the two of you were falling in love.” He gave her a searching look. “Crazy thought, hmm?”
“Would that have been such a terrible thing?” she asked softly.
“You and I both know, Sara, that he wouldn’t have married you. He would have broken your heart.”
Sara lifted her chin, ignoring the slight tightening in her throat. “Perhaps I would have broken his heart, Zachary. Have you ever thought of that?”
Zachary gave his sister a smile before making his way to the door. “Maybe you already have, little sister.” He gave her a wink—big know-it-all-brother to kid sister. “You never know.”
Seamen called them rogue waves, a colossal heaving of the sea caused by some shifting of the earth’s crust miles and miles away. On land, they were tsunami’s, with the power to obliterate entire villages. At sea, they were a captain’s nightmare, for there was no warning—and no escape. One such wave hit the Julia just three days out of the Sandwich Islands, a harsh reminder after weeks of calm seas that the ocean ruled here, not a tiny ship made of wood. The crew was relaxing and looking forward to stepping on land for the first time in nearly six months. Already some were claiming they could smell the islands. They looked with longing each morning to the horizon hoping for a glimpse of the snowy peak of Mauna Loa. The seas were calm, despite a nice aft wind that pushed them strong and fast toward the islands. A group of seamen were lounging by the rail in the misty early morning light, the lookout high above them was just getting into place to idly search for a whale that no one hoped would surface. A whale would only delay their journey and their hull was nicely full already with a fine mixture of sperm and whale oil.
“Something, sir! Port bow!” came a shout from above.
Something? West sprang to the rigging and searched the horizon, his eyes narrowed. He saw nothing. Lifting his spyglass, he scanned the horizon just a moment before snapping the instrument down. His tanned skin distinctly paled.
“Come about starboard,” he yelled. “All officers on deck. All hands. Come about! Come about!”
The deck was suddenly filled with men, all rushing to do what they could to turn the ship as quickly as possible, to turn into the wave. A breach could mean a capsize.
“Here it comes, lads. Tie yourselves down and hold on tight…” Sara. My God, where is Sara?
West abandoned his effort to tie himself to the foremast and shot forward toward the tiny topcabin that seemed miles away from him. She must be there, completely oblivious to the danger she was in.
“Sara!” he shouted until his throat was raw as he ran and stumbled toward the topcabin, only to feel a strong hand on his arm. Oliver held him, forced his arms about a thick rope and shook his head, more meaning in that shake than any words he could have uttered.
“It’s here,” Oliver shouted, just as a huge wave crashed over the ship’s bow. Tons of water flooded the deck, and for a long moment West heard nothing but the roar of water rushing past him, felt the ship rise and rise until he feared they would tumble back down the wave, end over end. And then, the ship crested the wave and rode it down, crashing into the sea, jarring the ship so violently, West feared the old ship would shatter.
Then: silence. Terrifying silence.
He shook the water from his eyes, desperately scanning the deck as Mr. Mason began a roll call. He climbed over debris strewn about the deck, pushing away a sail ripped from its mooring so that he could see if the topcabin was undamaged. He stood there looking at the impossible. It was gone, stripped from the ship as if it had never been there. West dropped to his knees, no longer able to bear the weight of what he was looking at.
“Mr. Dawes,” he shouted. “Lower the boats.”
His third mate’s eyes filled with tears. “Yes, sir.”
“West, we should search the ship before setting out,” Oliver said. “She c
ould have gone below. She could be safe. Search below, sir, and then we’ll lower the boats.”
West looked at his first mate. “Lower the goddamn boats,” he said, then made his way to the companionway to search below, though he had no hope he would find her there. Why would he, when he’d banished her from his cabin because he’d been too weak to resist her?
He went first to the dining room, the aftercabin, his own stateroom, looking dully around as he quickly realized they were empty. He let out a sound close to a sob, one born of frustration and fear, before turning to search the other rooms, even knowing such a search would be futile. Behind him, he heard a door open.
He turned, and there she was stepping from the captain’s head and rubbing her forehead, a frown on her lovely face. When she saw him, she stopped abruptly, her expression immediately filled with caution. And when West rushed toward her with an idiot grin on his face, she looked as if she might run away.
“What happened? I hit my head against the washstand and it hurts like the devil.”
West lay a hand on her cheek, his eyes warm and open and likely revealing exactly how he felt about her. He didn’t give a damn. “Does it now?” She nearly pulled away from him, her eyes wary and confused.
“Yes. It does. What happened?”
She looked like a grumpy child made to get up early and West had to resist the violent urge to take her in his arms and drag her to his bed to prove to them both that she was truly safe. “A rogue wave hit the ship,” he said distractedly, his thumb reveling in the softness of her cheek. He watched as she swallowed heavily.
“A rogue what?”
“Wave,” he whispered, before kissing her softly.
She jerked her head back, suddenly looking at him suspiciously. “And you were looking for me?”
“Yes.” He kissed her again, this time tugging slightly on her lower lip. He felt her smile beneath his mouth.
“Because you thought I’d been swept overboard and were completely and utterly distraught.”
His tongue traced her lips. “Yes.” He was just about to show her how truly grateful he was that she had not been swept away when he heard footsteps thundering down the stairs.
“Here she is, Mr. Dawes,” West said, backing away from Sara but not turning toward his third mate. “Safe and sound.”
Zachary skidded to a halt at the door, a wide smile on his face. “Gave us quite a scare,” Zachary said, his eyes going from Sara to West.
“That’s what I understand,” Sara said, entirely too enthusiastically.
West nodded to Sara before departing the room, still shaken to the core, not only by the aftermath of the wave, but by the storm still raging inside him. If they had not been interrupted, he would have made love to her, and have been glad of it. He would have buried himself inside her and begged her to be his wife. As he made his way top deck to assess the damage, he was not certain whether he was glad of Zachary’s interruption or not.
It was too beautiful for Sara to look at and think: “This is where I will say good-bye. This is where my heart will break.”
But she couldn’t help but think that, even as her heart swelled at the sight of Hawaii, the largest of the Sandwich Islands. Never before had she seen so many shades of green, going from bright to deep as the lush terrain rose from the sea, and finally to the snow-capped peak Mauna Loa. Her brother explained the mountain that loomed over the lush island was a volcano, and Sara tried to imbed the sight of it into her mind. Not for the first time did she realize with stark clarity that she was living an adventure that few women—or men—could even dream of. She smiled despite the ache in her heart, committing the sight to memory as she had committed so many things. Once the Julia weighed anchor, she would never again step foot on this great, lumbering ship that had become so very dear to her. It was her home, a place where she had felt safe. A place where, oddly enough, she felt she belonged.
Even the thought of the convoluted plan suggested by a mildly desperate-sounding Captain West Mitchell was enough to make her stomach twist in guilt and nervousness. She had stood before him, her brother beside her, as he described what he’d concluded would be the best course of action. Even though Sara had known he wanted her away from him, she couldn’t help but feel slightly bewildered that he had concocted such a thoroughly detailed plan to send her back to New Bedford, to send her away from him, without ever consulting her. She hated to feel so helpless, had thought that meek and pliable girl she’d been was banished forever.
The fact that her own brother had been part of the planning and agreed made her even more angry.
“While we are in Hilo, you will stay with the Tillinghasts. I have stayed with them several times in the past ten years. I will introduce you as my wife.”
Sara let out a sound of protest.
“It will do neither of us any good to manufacture yet another lie,” he’d said harshly. “I will simply introduce you and leave you to them. The Tillinghasts often take in whaling wives and their children. It will not be an unusual occurrence for them.”
“Makes sense,” Zachary said to Sara’s great irritation.
“Have I no say in anything?”
“And what is it that you’d like to say?” West asked, one eyebrow lifting with maddening condescension.
Sara came closer than she cared to be to blurting out what was in her heart. She didn’t want to leave the Julia. She didn’t want to leave West. She wanted, she realized with sickening clarity, for him to change his mind, to sweep her into his arms and beg her to marry him. But it wasn’t going to happen. He did not love her. If he did, he would marry her, or at least ask her to stay with him. Sara opened her mouth and just as quickly pressed her lips together, horrified at just how close she’d come to making an utter fool of herself. She swallowed past a thickening knot in her throat.
“I’ve nothing to say.”
And she’d said nothing since, not for two days had she even brought up what would happen to her when they finally reached Hilo. She refused to let him see she was crumbling inside, that every wave hitting the hull of the ship was like the ticking of a great clock, marking the time she would have to say good-bye.
Sara turned away from the railing, her eyes immediately seeking out West’s familiar form. She must remember how he looked today, filled with the excitement of finally reaching the Sandwich Islands, of the prospect of spending long weeks on shore. The men were just as excited, for they would step on land for the first time in six months. The ship was alive with their chatter, and even West’s reprimands at idle hands were taken good-naturedly. They would all be getting shore leave in Honolulu. Sara would remain in Hilo. Alone.
Fear swept through her at the thought of what she faced in the months ahead, and she turned away from the cheerful sight of the hardworking men, the glorious, windswept captain who shouted orders with such gusto. Sara looked at the island, let the lush greenness of it soothe her, and tried to put from her mind the journey she faced, and the end of that journey, where she would lie to everyone she met.
“Not thinkin’ of jumpin’ are you, Mrs. Mitchell?”
Sara smiled at Mr. Mason, though she knew it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve heard too many tales of sharks in these waters to be taking such a chance, Mr. Mason,” she said in a parody of her usual jaunty self.
He put his gnarled hands next to hers on the railing, the contrast between his aged, work-roughened hands and her sturdy female ones marked. “I hear tell you’ve got quite a journey ahead of you.”
“Not any longer than what I’ve already seen.”
Mr. Mason rubbed his hand over his face, the sound of his callused hands making an audible rasping against his beard. “Aye. You should be home and safe in your own bed by Christmas.”
Tears flooded Sara’s eyes abruptly as memories assaulted her already fragile mind. She would not be going home, but to a stranger. She had no home. No family other than Zachary, and he would be thousands of miles away from her.
&n
bsp; “Now, now,” Mr. Mason said with gruff kindness. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“Oh, no, Mr. Mason. I’m not crying.” He let out a chuckle as she wiped away her tears.
“Well, then, there’s something mightily wrong with those eyes of yours.” They stood in silence for a time, Mr. Mason’s hands moving back and forth over the railing in a restless manner. “He’ll be home afore you know it,” he said finally.
Sara swallowed down another rush of tears. “You shall all be home before I know it,” she said tearfully. “I shall miss you all dearly.”
“Aw,” he growled, waving a hand at her. But his wind-ruddy cheeks turned even pinker above his beard. Then he moved off, shouting an order to a young sailor who was staring rapt at the island.
West knew he was doing the right thing, knew it down to his core. Sara had no business on the ship now and that rogue wave only cemented that belief. He would never forget the way he’d felt when he thought her lost, swept off the ship by the wave. Even as he’d ordered those boats cast off, he knew she was dead. And he’d wanted to die, wanted to fall to the deck and never rise up. He could not live with that kind of fear, that something would happen to her, that he could lose her.
He had kept his distance from Sara since the tsunami, and in the days since he’d outlined his plan for her, she had grown cold and wary. He couldn’t blame her. One minute he was looking at her as if he’d like to take her into his bed and love her forever and the next he was ignoring her. She was driving him mad. He was driving himself mad. His war continued even as he carried her from the whaleboat to the soft-sanded shore so that her dress would not become sodden. He tried not to think about how soft she was, how well he liked the feel of her in his arms. Her face was turned away from him, but that only made her vulnerable neck visible to him and he fought the urge to place his lips on that soft white skin.
