Bone Deep

by Gina McMurchy-Barber

  Dedicated to Dave, my best friend

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank my editor, Carrie Gleason, for her good questions and careful editing of my manuscript. I would also like to thank Aileen Hunter for introducing me to the work of John R. Jewitt, whose shipwreck experiences inspired aspects of my story.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Author's Note

  Prologue

  June 25th, 1812

  In our hasty departure from Tlatskwala Island the Intrepid struck an outcrop of submerged rocks that tore open her hull. We are taking on water to the measure of two feet an hour and there is little time left for us.

  In this, my final entry as captain, I accept full responsibility for our present calamity. We were trading with natives who call themselves Kwakwaka’wakw at the northern tip of Vancouver’s Island. Upon our arrival I sensed an uneasiness previously not experienced in our dealings with the Northwest Indians. In no time relations soured when their sensibilities became disturbed over a difference of opinion during trade negotiations. Chief Noomki was insulted and his warriors retaliated by ambushing our ship in the night. Though my men were caught off guard, they fought admirably and eventually regained control of the ship. Many are now wounded and, tragically, our sailmaker, Thomas Williams, and Mister Astor’s trading partner, Robert Lockhart, are dead.

  To avoid further attack, I ordered we pull up anchor and set sail. This decision proved to be fatal when, soon after, a tempestuous squall rose up, interfering with our visibility and control over the ship. It was exactly 3 o’clock when we struck the unseen obstacle hidden below the surface of the water.

  Intrepid is fitted with two dories, hardly sufficient for the entire crew. Upon my orders they are preparing to abandon ship. They are taking what they can in way of food rations. As captain I will stay at my post and oversee the evacuation of the crew or until the ship goes down, whichever comes first. I placed the responsibility for leading the men to safety onto my first mate, Mister Carver. He will deliver this journal into the hands of my employer, should he be so fortunate to make it back to New York alive.

  I painfully regret that I failed in my duties and as a result Intrepid and her cargo are lost. I pray the Lord has mercy on my men and sees them safely home.

  “Take me up, and cast me forth into the sea; so shall the sea be calm unto you.” Jonah 1:12

  Captain James Whittaker

  Chapter One

  It was Sunday afternoon and everyone in the house was in a stink — the floors had to be scrubbed, the curtains vacuumed, dozens of knickknacks dusted — all because Great Aunt Beatrix was coming to visit. There couldn’t have been more fuss made had she been the Queen of England coming for her Diamond Jubilee. On top of having to give up a perfectly good Sunday in early June to clean house, I was expected to vacate my bedroom too.

  “My room! Why does Aunt Beatrix get my room?” I blurted when I first got the news. “Where am I supposed to read, or do homework, or eat in peace?”

  “Oh Peggy,” Mom snorted. “You sound like Eeyore.” I hated it when she compared me to characters in Winnie-the-Pooh.… When was she ever going to remember I wasn’t a little kid? “Besides, you know Aunt Margaret doesn’t like it when you eat in your room.” Mom was changing the subject, but I wasn’t going to let her get away with it.

  “I still don’t get why I have to be the one to sleep on the sofa. She’s your aunt — why don’t you give up your room, or for that matter why not Aunt Margaret?” Just then the very same queen of clean charged into the room.

  “Lizzy, for crying out loud … have you looked at the clock? She’ll be here in an hour.” Then Aunt Margaret caught sight of me. “Peggy, did you change your sheets? And did you pull out all the dirty socks from under the bed? And what about that gunk stuck on your nightstand … tell me you managed to scrape it off!”

  “It’s not gunk. I told you, it’s my gum collection!” My aunt’s eyes narrowed and Mom coughed nervously. “Yes, Aunt Margaret, I changed the sheets, put my smelly socks in the laundry, and left everything in my room spic-and-span, including the nightstand.” She smiled skeptically and then tore off to the kitchen. It was tough living with my freakishly tidy Aunt Margaret and even worse when visitors came. At times like this even my mild-mannered Uncle Stewart made excuses to get out of the house and out of her way.

  “Thank you, Peggy. I know it’s not your thing, but making everything perfect for Great Aunt Beatrix’s visit is important, especially to Aunt Margaret. Anything you can do to make it easier is appreciated.”

  It’s hard to be mad at my mom. She’s the kind of person who works really hard — even when she doesn’t have to; always puts the needs of others first; and tiptoes around my nitpicky Aunt Margaret just to keep the peace. One thing’s for certain — if Mom and I could afford a house of our own she would never sacrifice an entire Sunday to house cleaning.

  “You go and do the bathroom while I get the good china down from the shelf,” Mom suggested.

  Now, cleaning the bathroom has got to be the worst chore in the world and under normal circumstances I’d complain about being asked to do it. But when Mom said the words good china a chill swept over me and I tore up the stairs as fast my legs could carry me. The china she was referring to was the blue and white porcelain dinner set Aunt Beatrix had passed down to my Aunt Margaret. It had been in the family for a zillion years and was only used on special occasions. It was displayed on top of a tall shelf in the dining room — a room we hardly ever went in. A room I happened to chase Duff into after school one day when we were playing a game of cat and mouse. When I accidentally chucked his catnip on top of the china cabinet he scooted up the curtain, then jumped over to retrieve it. That’s when he suddenly met with the delicately patterned blue and white teapot, and some cups and saucers sitting on top. When it all came smashing to the floor I thought I would never breathe again. Fortunately for me there was no one else home and I had time to get out the glue. When the shattered pieces didn’t stick right away I wrapped them with tape. I’d meant to go back and take it off but it wasn’t long before I forgot all about the broken china … that is until the very moment Mom mentioned getting it down from the shelf.

  I ran into the bathroom and shut the door and braced myself for what was certain to be a scene involving a lot of screaming. That’s when I remembered I’d forgotten to bring up the toilet scrubber and cleaning rags. There was no way I was going back down there and risk hastening a face-to-face confrontation. While I waited for the inevitable I looked under the sink for some cleaning supplies. There were only towels.

  They would have to do. I used the brown towel on the toilet … seemed the best choice. The pink one I used to wipe the sink and mirror, and then mopped the floor with it. All the while I waited for some kind of shriek that sounded like: PEGGY HENDERSON, GET YOUR BUTT DOWN HERE NOW! But it didn’t come. Soon the bathroom was clean — well, at least it looked good to me. That’s when I realized I’d have to do something with the dirty towels. I was sure Aunt Margaret wouldn’t notice if I just neatly refolded them and put them back under the sink. That’s just what I was doing when I heard Mom call my name — only her voice sounded rather sweet, not a hint of anger.

  “Peggy, if you’ve finished cleaning the bathroom — properly — would you come down here and say hello to your Great Aunt Beatrix? She’s arrived a little … um … early.” I snickered when
I thought about what was running through Aunt Margaret’s mind. She was probably sweating over the dust still on the lampshades and the stacks of magazines in the hall.

  “Okay, Mom — happy to!” I answered in an equally sweet voice — though I was sure Mom would recognize it as classic Peggy sarcasm.

  When I got downstairs Mom whispered, “Did you do a good job?” I nodded. “Peggy?”

  “Perfect — right down to folding the towels.” I smiled as sincerely as possible. Just then I glanced over to the shelf in the dining room and noticed the broken china teapot was still perched at the top. I sighed with relief. They must have changed their minds about using it. Bravo, Peggy — you dodged that bullet. Suddenly feeling much happier than I thought I would, I bounced into the living room and found Great Aunt Beatrix sitting on the sofa.

  “Hello, Aunt Beatrix,” I blurted. At first she seemed startled and snorted at me in surprise. She was dressed in a green wool skirt that was tucked up under her well-endowed bosom and it gave the overall impression of her being some sort of human pear. At the end of her stubby arms were lots of silver bangles and her thin white hair was drawn up on the top of her head in a wispy bun.

  “Oh, Peggy, you’re so thin and tall.” Was that supposed to be a compliment? “Now would that be the same hockey shirt you were wearing the last time we met?” I looked down at my slightly rumpled Canucks jersey with the ketchup stain.

  “Yup, it’s my favourite shirt.” For some reason Mom’s face turned the same shade of pink as the freshly cut peonies in the vase.

  “And your hair … is that the way young people are styling their hair these days?”

  I smoothed my hands over my messy hair. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it seems some girls have taken to colouring their hair purple, others have feathers … I just wondered if your mass of tangles was another new style.”

  “Naw, just didn’t bother brushing it, that’s all.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, I’m glad you didn’t go to any trouble on my account.” I noticed that Aunt Margaret was nervously picking at the pills on her sweater.

  “Oh, I went to plenty of trouble on your account. Aunt Margaret had me up at seven o’clock scrubbing —”

  “Aunt Beatrix,” Aunt Margaret butted in. “I’m sure you must be ready for some refreshment after your long drive.” I wondered why Aunt Margaret seemed to be on pins and needles around Great Aunt Beatrix. No matter to me really, I was just waiting for the right moment to make my escape.

  TB and I were going for a bike ride down to Blackie’s Spit. He’s my best friend and has the dorkiest name on Earth — Thorbert. His dad named him that after some old Viking guy. When we met I could never say it with a straight face so I started calling him TB. Now everyone except his parents calls him that — I’m pretty sure it’s a nickname that’s saved him countless hours of teasing at school.

  “The water is boiled. Should I make the tea?” called Uncle Stewart from the kitchen.

  “Oh, I didn’t get the teapot down yet,” said Mom. “I’ll do that right now.” There was a sudden rush of blood to my face, and I felt dizzy.

  “That would be delightful, Elizabeth. I so enjoy it when we have an opportunity to use the family heirloom china.” Aunt Beatrix turned to me and scowled. “Peggy, dear, stop fidgeting with your fingernails. It isn’t ladylike.” I couldn’t help myself. If she knew what was going to happen next she’d be fidgeting too. Then it came, a startling wail from the kitchen that sounded like the cat’s tail had been banged in the cupboard door.

  “Peggy, come in here — right now,” Mom demanded from the kitchen.

  “Oh dear, it sounds like we have a problem. Is there anything I can do?” Aunt Beatrix called. I gulped back my nervousness and wondered if I should make a run for it. I had taken two steps towards the front door when Aunt Margaret came into the room with a tear-streaked face.

  “Peggy, don’t you even think about it,” Aunt Margaret said in a trembling voice. “You’ll have to excuse us, Aunt Beatrix. We have a situation and need Peggy to clear it up.” The blood that had suddenly rushed in now drained just as quickly from my face and I weakly followed my aunt to the kitchen.

  “Perhaps I should make the tea while you take care of whatever it is,” Great Aunt Beatrix offered. Aunt Margaret went even paler than me — if that was actually possible.

  “No thank you, Aunt Beatrix. Your tea is on its way — won’t be more than a couple of minutes.” Aunt Margaret narrowed her eyes to two scary slits and pointed to the kitchen. When I walked in Mom was bent over the table peeling tape off of the teacups. When she glanced up I could see in her eyes that my life was in danger.

  “Explain to me — and quickly — what happened to my china, Peggy? And don’t even think of lying.” I’d seen Aunt Margaret mad a lot of times, but never this bad.

  “Well, one day after school Duff was all frisky, you see. He was tearing around the place like a crazy possessed maniacal —”

  “Just get to the point,” my aunt snapped.

  “Like I was about to say … he was tearing around when all of a sudden he latched onto the curtains and climbed up on the top of the shelf. That’s when he knocked the china down.” I decided for the time being it was best to leave off the part about me accidentally tossing his catnip up there. Since Duff was my aunt’s cat I was pretty sure he’d be safe. It was my safety that I was worried about.

  “Why didn’t you say anything when it happened?” Aunt Margaret growled.

  “Well, it was like five months ago.” She gasped. “I thought maybe once the glue was set it would be okay. Then I forgot all about it.” If there had been a club handy I sensed she would have used it. “It was an unfortunate accident, but let’s get some perspective … they’re only dishes, and it’s not like they ever get used.” Another gasp, but this time it was from my mom.

  “We don’t use them because they’re very valuable and old — well over a hundred years, in fact. We only use them for special occasions … like this.” Aunt Margaret’s lips quivered. “They were given to me by Aunt Beatrix, who got them from her grandmother, and before that they came from some other distant relative. Do you realize how many generations these dishes go back?” I was in the process of doing the math, when Aunt Margaret fell onto the chair and started sobbing. “Aunt Beatrix expects us to serve tea in that teapot. Now what am I supposed to do?”

  I started to offer some suggestions but Mom stopped me.

  “Peggy, I don’t want to hear it. You’ve completely missed the point here. This china means a lot to Aunt Margaret. She treasures it. I know an accident is an accident but it was irresponsible of you to not tell us about what happened. Not only is it a shame these dishes were broken, but you have put us in an awkward situation. I think you should go to your room and think about what you’ve done. And while you’re there you’d better craft your apology speech and a have a plan for making amends.” I hung my head and headed for the stairs.

  “Stop,” Aunt Margaret hissed. “You can’t go there — it’s Aunt Beatrix’s room for now. Just … just … go outside. I don’t want to see you right now.”

  Outside? I did my best to look like I detested the idea and shuffled to the back door. Then as soon as I could I scooted down the stairs and snatched my bike and helmet as fast as I could and rode off with the wind whistling past my ears.

  That night I had a hard time sleeping, and it wasn’t because of the lumpy sofa. First I’d been expelled from my room, and then I got reamed out over some crumby old broken teapot and cups, followed by Aunt Beatrix’s snide observations about my sloppy posture and lack of fashion sense. If that wasn’t bad enough, I got shrieked at again just before bed when Aunt Margaret found out the towels she gave Aunt Beatrix were the wet and dirty ones I’d used for cleaning the bathroom.

  How was I going to survive two weeks of this? I needed to find a way to stay clear of Great Aunt Beatrix and Aunt Margaret. I was actually glad there was school the next day. Ju
st then I remembered my class had a field trip in the morning to the Vancouver Maritime Museum. Maybe by the time I got home everyone would be calmed down.

  “Welcome,” beckoned a pretty young woman as we stepped inside the museum. Usually on museum field trips we got retired grandmothers who led the tours, but this one wasn’t old at all, maybe mid-twenties. “I’m Amanda Marsh, your guide today here at the Vancouver Maritime Museum. If I can just get you to leave your bags here we’ll get started in the main gallery by viewing the museum’s pride and joy — the St. Roch — a schooner built a hundred years ago.” We followed Amanda into a high ceilinged room filled from top to bottom with an old sailing ship. Its size took me by surprise and I felt dizzy looking up to the tip of the mast.

  “How did they get this ship inside the building?” TB asked Amanda.

  “They didn’t put the ship in the building. They built the building around it. A lot simpler, don’t you think?” Amanda told us more about the St. Roch’s history, like how it used to be a Royal Canadian Mounted Police ship. Then we got to go aboard. As I looked over the deck and up to the top of the sails I thought about the sailing lessons I’d taken the summer before. We only got to sail tiny skiffs, but the instructor, Vic Torino, or the Tornado as we called him, had a really nice boat he took us sailing on. Even though he was a seriously weird guy, I did learn a lot of things, like how to maneuver the rudder and set the sail, how to read the gauges and maps, and mastered at least eight different kinds of knots.

  As we toured the St. Roch, Amanda told us stories of adventure and danger of the old seafaring men of the past. We learned about Captain Cook and Captain Vancouver too. Vancouver surveyed and mapped the West Coast in the late 1700s. We learned that his navigational charts helped to open up the Pacific Ocean to a lot of other explorers and put the West Coast fur trade into high gear.