by Chloe Carley
Give us the strength to get to the shores of America, he prayed each morning and each night. After all, they had made it that far under the grace of God. He had kept them safe until then. Noah hoped that the Lord would keep them safe for the rest of their journey together. Otherwise, it felt like a rather cruel trick.
With everything ready, Rachel and Noah awoke in their separate sleeping areas on the morning of their eighth island day. The sun rose steadily on the horizon without a single cloud in the sky. It was going to be a hot day with a faint breeze to help push the lifeboat along the water. Noah would have preferred it to be less warm, but there was nothing he could do about the weather. He just hoped they would not encounter another storm as they moved towards America.
“Is everything prepared?” Rachel asked timidly as she came to greet Noah at the boat.
He nodded. “We have food, we have water, we have shelter, and we have a sail and a tiller. I do not think we could be any more prepared for what we are about to undertake.”
“Do you think we will make it?”
“I hope we will.” He offered her a reassuring smile though it did nothing to alleviate his own concerns. “If you are ready to depart should we round up the creatures and get them on-board?”
“Yes, I suppose we must.” Rachel turned and called out to Dandelion who bounded up to them with the monkey and the bat clinging to her fur. They had become a strange chimera of sorts, all three of them going everywhere together. Peridot, on the other hand, rarely left Rachel’s side, always perched atop her shoulder or her head. He was there at that very moment, fluttering his gray-green wings in nervous excitement.
The only animal left to fetch was the dove that had fallen victim to the jungle’s canopy. With the other creatures settled into the boat, Noah walked toward the hut and plucked the bird up from its palm-frond roost. It did not seem to mind too much, cooing in mild displeasure as he took it back to Rachel’s safe hands. Cautious of it’s still-injured wing, she placed it on top of the supply crate where she had created an identical version of the palm nest. The dove snuggled down into it without another coo or chirp, folding it’s wings behind itself as it closed its eyes.
If only I could be so calm, Noah thought enviously.
“Wait, there is one more thing that I should like to do before we leave,” Rachel said, an expression of worry crossing her features.
“What is it?”
“You shall see,” she replied. He watched her as she hurried toward the tree-line, snatching up four twigs and some of the fibrous sinew from the coconut shells. She walked slowly back, binding the twigs into two crosses. Noah’s heart ached as he realized what she was doing. Despite everything, she had not forgotten those who were lost. He knew she likely never would.
Nearing him, she placed the two crosses deep in the sand and wrote the name ‘Nan’ and ‘Onions’ in front of each one. Without a word, she sank to her knees and lifted her hands in prayer. Noah kneeled beside her and did the same, touching the tips of his fingers to his lips as he waited for her to speak. He had lost them, too, but it did not seem appropriate for him to give the final rites.
“Let the Lord watch over you and take care of you as you walk together in the Kingdom of Heaven,” she murmured softly. “May your pains be eased and your troubles lifted. May you look down on us with fondness as we think of you in kind. You cannot know how deeply we feel the loss of you, but we hope that you are happy now. Guide us through the journey to come, my dearest Nan, so that we may fulfil the dreams that were taken from you. And Onions, I hope that one day your mother will come to claim you and you will be reunited. May the Lord have mercy on our souls. Amen.”
“Amen,” Noah repeated.
They stood together with Rachel leaning against Noah’s arm for a moment. He thought about putting it around her shoulders, but she moved away before he could. Her expression instantly changed to one of determination, the last of her tears drying up on her cheeks as she vaulted into the lifeboat and settled down at the oars. The sadness would always remain, but right now, the two of them had much larger fish to fry.
Noah cast a look back at the two small crosses and vowed to honor them properly once they reached dry land. With that, he pushed the boat out into the shallows. Once the water had enveloped him up to his waist, he pulled himself into the vessel and sat down beside Rachel. Taking an oar each, they began to row towards their destiny.
He could not help but feel a swell of pride as he noted the fixed perseverance on Rachel’s face as she pushed and pulled the oar through the water. Indeed, she had changed a great deal from the woman he had first met upon the docks at Liverpool. Where once she would not have been without her finery and her high-society, now she sat in the broad daylight in nothing but her petticoats heaving with all her might against the resistance of the ocean. He could not have admired her more than he did in that moment.
As they began to pull away from paradise, Noah kept his eyes fixed on the movement of the sun using it to direct them. The wind picked up as they strayed away from the safety of dry land, fleshing out the sails until they billowed contentedly. Indeed, he began to push them with such force that Noah set down his oar and instructed Rachel to do the same.
“Will this be enough?” she asked inquisitively.
He nodded. “For the time being. We should conserve our energy for when the wind drops, for then we will be as sitting ducks.”
She stretched out her arms and crept gingerly over to the shelter that had been erected at the back of the boat. There, she curled up beside her animals, feeding them tiny scraps of the food they had brought. He had never seen a more beautiful sight.
The wind pushed them on across the ocean, a few small waves prompting the boat to bob up and down in a steady, almost hypnotic, rhythm. Noah watched the horizon, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of a storm in the distance. After what happened on the Emerald, he did not want to take any chances. He had sworn to deliver Rachel safely to the shores of America and nothing would stop him from making good on his promise. At least, he hoped nothing would stop him. The ocean was a turbulent, fickle mistress who was as changeable as her tides… and they were a long way from land.
He turned over his shoulder to find that Rachel had fallen asleep beneath the shelter with Dandelion resting her head against the flat of her stomach. Meanwhile, the monkey had nestled itself in the gathered fabric of her petticoat skirt and the bat was slumbering amongst Dandelion’s fur. Peridot, as ever, was perched on her shoulder, his beady eyes darting around to make sure the coast was clear. Noah smiled at the tiny bird feeling a kinship—both of them wanted to see Rachel through this. The dove, on the other hand, was happily roosting in one of the crates, cooing softly.
“I will lead you home,” he promised quietly before turning his attention back to the waves, the water, and the clear blue skies.
***
For almost three weeks, the boat sailed across the open ocean, battling winds and swells and the icy chill that came each night with the setting of the sun. Each morning as Noah checked to make sure everyone was alive, he scratched another line into the side of the boat with his knife. They’d been at sea for twenty-nine days in total, though it felt more like a life sentence; an endless punishment of heat and thirst and salt-cracked lips that stung with every waking moment. He had almost forgotten what the touch of dry land beneath his feet could feel like. His senses longed for the seasoned, human air of a township filled with voices and hustle-and-bustle. He’d have given anything to scent something else in his nostrils other than the savory tang of the ocean.
They were down to their last rations of water and the food wasn’t faring much better. The dried-out coconut and snake-meat had started to give Rachel painful stomach aches that turned her face white and prompted cold sweat to run down her face. He had sat with her most days and nights feeding her small sips of water to ease her suffering. Even now, on the dawn of their twenty-ninth day, he awoke beside her with a start, his firs
t thoughts jumping to her wellbeing.
“Miss Faulks?” he shook her shoulder gently, retreating to one of the crates beneath the shelter. With the bitter nights rolling in again, Rachel had relaxed her rules on propriety once more and allowed him to sleep beside her, so they might use their body warmth to fend off the freezing temperatures. He enjoyed the feeling of being near to her, his arm around her waist as a means of subconscious defense against anything that might cause her harm. However, he had not forgotten himself or his position in society. Although his heart longed for her more and more with every passing day, he knew he could not allow himself to believe in a foolish romance. She would marry a wealthy man, no doubt, and he would not deny her that financial security, even if it meant letting her go.
She blinked slowly awake, her eyes struggling against the morning light. “Mr. Sharpleton… is something the matter?”
“You must drink something, Miss Faulks. Your lips are parched,” he replied, picking up one of their last full jars of water. She was so weak and shaky that she could barely sit up without his help. Dandelion would nudge her in the back as Noah pulled her slowly up by her arms. Her skin had become deathly pale, the bluish veins beneath crisscrossing like the threads of a spider’s web. Bruised crescents underlined her eyes which were red-rimmed and shot through with fatigued capillaries while her lips were dry and cracked, rusty red remnants of blood clinging where it had trickled from the split skin.
“Have you seen land?” she croaked, reaching out for the water.
“Perhaps it would be best if I poured it into your mouth,” he suggested, noting the violent tremble of her hands.
“I am quite capable of drinking by myself.” Her eyes narrowed, her tone weary and snappish. Hunger and thirst were enough to make anyone snappish, so he did not hold her sharpness against her. Indeed, during the past few days, he had felt his own patience waning.
“Very well.” He handed the jar to her reluctantly, wishing she would not be so stubborn.
“You did not answer my question,” she said as she sipped gingerly. From the look of pain on her face, it seemed the touch of the tepid liquid on her lips made them sting all the more.
“No, there has been no sign of land as yet.”
She sat back against the stern of the boat and lifted her face up to the makeshift canopy. It had done a good job of keeping out the harsh sun’s rays during their voyage, but it did very little to keep them cool during the fiercely hot days and warm during the icy-cold nights. There appeared to be no in-between. As he watched her looking up, he could sense her annoyance flaring.
“Why are the sails like that?” she pointed to the deflated fabric that hung limply from the mast that Noah had constructed.
“There is no wind, Miss Faulks.”
She frowned. “Then, we must row.”
“You are too weak, Miss Faulks. We should wait an hour or so to see if the wind picks up again. If it does not, I shall sit in the rowing seat,” Noah insisted.
“And when you tire yourself out? What are we to do then?”
“We shall cross that bridge if we come to it.”
She sighed in exasperation. “Do you have any idea as to where we are?”
“Somewhere in the Atlantic. We have been following the correct trajectory, more-or-less, so all we have to do is keep our faith and pray that land comes soon. It is out there waiting for us both. If we are strong in our resolve, we shall be rewarded with the sight of those green pastures—of the new world that will become our new home.”
She glanced at him, a strange expression on her face. “You plan to stay? I had thought you would find a ship back to England once you had helped to locate Nan’s son.”
He could not read the unusual glimmer in her eyes. “I have not settled on the finer details just yet, but I may attempt to make myself useful in the Americas. There is nothing left for me, back in England. Besides, as we do not yet know what may have happened to Captain Frodsham, it is less likely that he may discover my survival if I remain in America.”
“You believe he may wish to cause you harm?” She sounded worried.
“I believe he may wish to protect his investment. If I were to let slip the truth of what he has been doing at these various ports and the poor choices that he made aboard the Emerald – choices that cost many men their lives – then he would be hunted down as a smuggler and a brigand. He cannot risk such exposure, though I do not plan to antagonize him.”
Rachel frowned. “But you must expose him, mustn’t you? You cannot allow those lives to have been lost in vain. Think of Nan. Think of Onions. Think of all those who drowned below decks because of his false step, all brought on by an underhanded dealing with that fellow you spoke of.”
“St. Vincent.”
“Yes, you must report it to the harbormaster as soon as we arrive in America. After all, we do not know if Captain Frodsham might have perished at sea. If he has, there will be no harm in such justice. If he has not, my father will know of a way to keep you out of harm’s way. He will, undoubtedly, want to find recompense of his own once he learns what happened. Captain Frodsham did not make good on his end of the bargain and my father will want to be refunded. He may even choose to reward you, in the captain’s stead.”
Noah smiled. “I need no reward. If I get you safely to America that shall be all the recompense I need,” he said softly. “As for Captain Frodsham, I will make my decision once we reach shore. What you say is true, but I must be careful about it. He is a very powerful man and we must be stealthy if we are to have justice for our fallen comrades.”
She shrugged. “You know him better than I. You must do as you see fit. Although, you must allow my father and I to offer you a reward—I will not hear a refusal. It shall fall on deaf ears if you try.”
“Very well, Miss Faulks.” He had no intention of accepting money of any kind from Rachel or her father, for what he truly desired could not be bought. Nor could he ever seek to have it, so what did a reward matter? Her health and happiness would have to suffice. He could live with that.
Rachel’s hand suddenly faltered on the smooth edges of the glass jar where condensation had made it slick overnight. Noah watched it happen in slow-motion; the jar slipping through her palms like soap, her fingertips grasping to try and regain hold of the object. Water sloshed over the rim as it tumbled to the floor, hitting the bare planks with a thud. Noah lunged for the jar and swiped it up off the ground, salvaging half of the contents while the rest pooled out over the floor and sank deep into the wood.
“I am so sorry!” Rachel shrieked, her hand clasped over her mouth. “I did not mean to. Oh Heavens, it was an accident. It slipped—it just slipped.”
Noah shook his head. “I know it was an accident, Miss Faulks.” He forced down a flare-up of irritation, his fractious nerves exacerbated by the lack of water and food in his belly. He had told her to let him hold the jar and he had told her to let him pour the water, but she would not allow herself to be told. Now, they had half a jar less than they had a moment ago with no idea how much longer they would be sailing for. If it was a couple of days, they might be fine, but any more than that and they would be in dire straits. He fought with the urge to snap at her, knowing she was sorry.
She doesn’t want to appear weak, that’s all, he told himself. She wants to let you see that she is well and that she is not suffering. That is why she told you to let her do it, even though she was shaking. You must see her reasoning, Noah. This is not the place to release your anger, for you will not be able to take it back, once you have said what you may say.
His inner thoughts calmed his mind for a while, the bob of the boat bringing him back into a centered focus. Screwing the lid back onto the jar, he stowed it safely back in the crate and let his heart rate return to normal. Shouting and screaming would do no good here. Plus, the sad look on Rachel’s face made it impossible to stay angry. If anything, it made his heart ache, his fingertips itching to wipe away the tears that were about t
o fall. They glinted in her eyes like a warning of what was to come—the lost water manifesting as a breaking point for her struggling resolve.
“Noah…” Rachel squeaked.
“Miss Faulks, you have no reason to cry,” he assured her, his heart jolting at the sound of his Christian name on her lips. “You did not mean to drop the jar.”
“And if we die without it?” A choked sob wracked her chest.
“We will not die, Miss Faulks. I have already told you, I refuse to let us perish out here. I have faith that we will make it to America. I have faith in you and I have faith in the Lord who is watching us at his very moment, guiding our boat with His loving hand.”
“Will you hold me?” she whimpered, holding her head in her hands.
Noah smiled nervously and moved from the crate to the floor. Nearing her, he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him. Her palms pressed to the taut muscle of his chest, one placed just over his heart as she buried her face in the curve of his neck, snuffling softly as the tears fell. His other hand cradled the back of her head, holding her close as she cried out her suffering. Ordinarily, he would have run from a crying woman, but Rachel was different. He wanted to be there for her, through good and bad, sickness and health, tears and joy. Each emotion was as beautiful as the other, in its own way, and he longed to be permitted to see the entire spectrum of her being. Not just now, but in the future, too. Regret gnawed at his stomach, as he realized he would have to give up that hope of her and him, him and her. Still, now was not the time for selfish thought. Rachel needed him and he would hold her for as long as she wanted him there… even if he could never do it again.
