On days like today, William wished more than anything that he could sit down with Paul one last time and ask all his questions. But it was too late. By the time he’d been willing to soften his heart and listen, Paul was dead.
William had thought his life might be coming to an end many times in the last few weeks. Was he ready to meet his Maker?
He shook his head. No. He wasn’t. But he didn’t know how to move forward from here.
God, if You’re truly a loving Father and up there listening to me, could You show me how to learn more about You?
Mary Elizabeth’s voice floated over to him. He turned and saw her assisting an older gentleman to the bulwark where William stood.
“Good morning, Miss Chapman.” He bowed slightly.
“Good morning, Mr. Lytton.” She helped the man until his hands were safely on the boards. “Have you met Mr. Brewster? He’s the head of our congregation for the new colony.”
William smiled. “I believe we’ve met, yes.”
Mr. Brewster looked him over. “Ah, yes. The carpenter. It’s good to see someone else up and about.”
“I agree, sir.”
“Are you feeling strong enough to stand here by yourself while I go help someone else?” Mary Elizabeth laid a hand on the man’s arm.
“Yes.” Brewster smiled. “I’ve got Mr. Lytton here to help me if need be.”
“Well then, I shall return in a few moments.”
“Thank you, Mary Elizabeth.” The older gentleman nodded.
William watched the man close his eyes and take in the fresh air just as he had.
How providential that after he’d prayed, this man had appeared. But where did he start?
“I fear many will be too sick to walk up here, but it’s divine, is it not?” Brewster looked out at the sea.
“My thoughts are the same, sir.” William glanced down at his feet. The time couldn’t get better than this. Sucking in a deep breath, he ventured forth. “Mr. Brewster, I was wondering if I could impose on you …”
“Of course. Go on.”
“I’d like to expand my knowledge of the Bible—and of your faith as well. Might I be able to persuade you to teach me?” There. He’d said it.
The older man’s face transformed with his smile. “I’d be honored, young man. Before the seas sought to shake us out of this ship, I was teaching a younger group through the Gospels. Would that interest you?”
“More than I can say, sir. Thank you.”
Peter barely had the strength to stand, but he’d made his way to the main deck with Miss Raynsford’s help so he could spy on William Lytton.
What didn’t make sense was that the man stood talking to one of those Saints. Their leader, too.
What game was he playing?
Was this how he would gain information? By infiltrating their ranks?
As far as Peter knew, the Saints were wary about accepting any of the Strangers. So what was Lytton up to?
The seasickness had been miserable and had slowed down his plan. So far, he hadn’t found anything that could help him, but there was still time.
The ship rocked under a swell and it made his stomach lurch. Maybe all this fresh air wasn’t so great of an idea.
David watched several sailors climb the masts and rig the sails. What it must be like to be so high in the air! They swung on the great masts and worked with the ropes and sails in a swift manner. Master Jones ordered commands, and the men complied.
The ship’s space had begun to feel confining. There were so many people on board and not enough room. All the other children were sick, and it made David feel more grown-up. He’d been able to help take care of people. But what he wouldn’t give right now to play a game or run around. Straightening his shoulders, he realized his thoughts were childish. Mary Elizabeth sent him top deck to take care of the animals. He’d best get to it.
As he collected the eggs from the hens, the ship’s surgeon—Mr. Giles Heale—passed by him looking quite grim. David followed to the crate closest to the aft castle and listened in as the man reached the ship master.
“Dead?” Jones frowned. “That was quick.”
“It was a grievous disease, sir.” Mr. Heale said something else under his breath.
Jones looked to the westward sky. “The body will need to be disposed of immediately. More storms are on the horizon.” With a nod, the master of the ship retreated up to the poop deck.
Someone died? David wondered who. And what had the surgeon said to Mr. Jones?
Mr. Heale walked toward the forecastle of the ship, where the crew took turns sleeping.
David once again followed. “Mr. Heale?”
The man turned and raised his brows. “Yes?”
“Who died, sir?”
“Ah, so you heard that, did you? It was a member of the crew.”
Relief poured through him. Then he felt guilty. What if the man didn’t know God? “Will there be a service for him, sir?”
“It’s unlikely, son. Master Jones is worried about new storms coming in. But the crew will assemble on deck for the burial.”
“Burial, sir?”
“As a seaman, it’s only fitting that he be buried at sea.” The surgeon turned.
“But sir, if others die, will they be buried at sea as well?”
The man slowly turned back and crouched down in front of him. “Yes, lad. It’s the only thing we can do while we are in the middle of the ocean.”
David nodded. He didn’t like that idea at all.
The surgeon left, and David went back to gathering the eggs.
The thought of dying on the ship made him shiver.
Shuffling behind him caught his attention. Two sailors carried a blanket-wrapped, man-shaped bundle. The rest of the crew followed behind. When they reached the bulwark on the larboard side of the ship, someone said something David couldn’t understand, Mr. Jones nodded, and then the two sailors heaved the body over the edge.
The water splashed.
The men dispersed.
David ran over to the side and peered down. Nothing but a large white circle of bubbles as the ship sailed past. He imagined what it must be like in the depths of the sea. Dark, and full of large fish and creatures. Another shiver raced up his spine.
“We all cursed, we be.”
David turned at the words and watched two of the crew climb the main mast.
“Lefty shouldn’t’ve cursed and tormented ’em. Their God has done cursed us now.”
As the men climbed higher, their words floated in and out. Is that what people thought? That God cursed them if they upset Him in some way? The conversation made David want to speak to Father about it, but he’d been so sick. Maybe Mary Elizabeth could help him understand. But what would she say when she found out the sailor who’d thrown her to the ground had died?
Master Jones stomped down the deck and rushed to the forecastle. “Son, you need to get back down below. Tell them to shut all the gun ports and hatches.”
“Yes, sir.” David wrapped the eggs in his shirt and ran toward the companionway. The wind whipped at his hair. What had been a beautiful day was now turning dark and gray as they headed farther into the west.
“Storm’s a’comin’!” Master Jones’s deep voice carried a fearsome undertone.
David hopped down the steps as a drop of rain splattered on his forehead. The people hadn’t had enough time to recover from the last bout of seasickness and another storm likely meant days of rolling and crashing on the waves. Would they be able to survive this again? He looked around the dark gun deck and spotted his sister. “Mary Elizabeth! Close the gun ports! Hurry, there’s another storm.”
CHAPTER 12
Monday, 16 October 1620
Mary Elizabeth knelt beside Elizabeth Hopkins. The squirming baby in her arms let out a squawk. As her heart cinched with longing to have a family of her own, she handed the brand-new baby boy to his mother. “Oceanus is a very fitting name.”
The ship co
ntinued to roll and quake in the constant storms they seemed to face. The fact that this woman had bravely given birth in the midst of it dumbfounded Mary Elizabeth. Not that the poor woman had much choice in the matter.
“Thank you.” Mrs. Hopkins laid back. “I believe I will rest a while longer. Thank you again for all you’ve done, Mary Elizabeth.”
“I’ll be back to check on you later.” Mary Elizabeth inched her way to the next set of quarters. With so many people packed into such a tiny space, it was amazing they weren’t all claustrophobic.
If only the calmer seas had lasted longer. The fresh air had been lovely—what little she’d had of it. But at least they’d had a bit of time to air out the deck and clean up a little.
But the poor passengers. The majority of them were still sick. Only a few of the young men seemed to be recovering. The stormy seas made the rest of them worse.
The Mayflower creaked in the torment of the wind, and water sprayed down upon the ill who were already miserable.
Mary Elizabeth had been praying for each person she attended, and the days had all run together. But at least she was busy. William appeared a bit stronger each day and helped the small band of caregivers. But since he wasn’t sick anymore, Mary Elizabeth didn’t have the opportunity to visit with him as much. She’d only seen him twice the past two days and had only been able to give him a smile.
Besides, although Father was still very ill, he probably wouldn’t approve of William. Her new friend wasn’t part of their congregation—he wasn’t one of the Saints. He was a Stranger.
Thoughts of her father made her feel guilty. Had she neglected him to take care of everyone else? She shook her head. She couldn’t allow those thoughts to take root. If she only sat by her father’s side all this time, so many other people would have suffered—possibly even died.
As she made her way from person to person, Mary Elizabeth saw Elder Brewster speaking to William. They were huddled under the companionway with what appeared to be a Bible. While the sight encouraged and lifted her heart, she wondered what the outcome could be. Was there hope for her to follow her heart?
She’d never allowed herself to even think such a thing.
“Mary Elizabeth?”
Dorothy’s voice jolted her. “Hmm?”
“You were staring at Mr. Lytton and Mr. Brewster. Everything all right?”
“Me? Staring?” Mary Elizabeth looked to the men and then back to Dorothy. “I’m sorry. Yes, I’m fine.” She’d better change the subject and fast. “I saw the new baby a little while ago. He’s so beautiful.”
“You don’t fool me for a minute, Mary Elizabeth Chapman.” Dorothy grinned. “But yes, the baby is beautiful. Don’t you just love his name? Oceanus. It sounds so strong and adventuresome.”
“From what I’ve heard, his father has had quite the adventures already.”
“Like father, like son, I suppose.” Dorothy shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I need to get David to haul some more buckets for me. You know, when we finally reach dry land, I don’t know if my legs will remember how to walk on steady ground.”
“Mine either.” Mary Elizabeth hugged her friend and headed toward the stern.
When she reached their meager quarters, Mary Elizabeth peeked at Father through the curtain. His complexion was still a pale gray, and he hadn’t eaten anything in days. The man who’d always been so strong and capable was now lifeless and weak. She knelt by his side and tried to get a few sips down his throat. “Father?”
No response.
He hadn’t spoken to her for several days. She didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what to pray anymore. “Lord …” Words failed to come.
“When you don’t know what to pray, Mary Elizabeth, pray the words Jesus taught us…pray scripture.” Mother’s words floated over her, and a single tear slipped down her cheek. Mary Elizabeth sat beside her father and closed her eyes.
“Our father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy Name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done even in earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we also forgive our debtors. And lead us not into tentation, but deliver us from evil: for thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory for ever, Amen.”
When she opened her eyes, Father was staring at her. “Father?”
“I’m here, child …. Th…thank you for praying.” As his breath washed over her, Mary Elizabeth couldn’t help but worry. The putrid smell was what the ship’s surgeon, Mr. Heale, called the beginnings of scurvy.
“Father?”
He closed his eyes again, and his deep, steady breathing told her that he was once again asleep.
Mary Elizabeth couldn’t be thankful enough for the chance to hear her father’s voice. But the concern of scurvy was now firmly implanted in her mind. Her father wasn’t the first case. And that was what scared her most. What chance of survival did they have? She tucked the blanket around him tighter and stood up. Oh, to be able to see him walk around again. Lord, please let it be so.
“Mary Elizabeth! Come quick!” David called to her.
She slipped through the curtain as fast as she could and found David, Dorothy, and William hunkered down over a sopping wet form near the companionway. “What happened?”
“It’s John Howland.” William looked at her. “We need a warm blanket.”
She ran to John’s little area and grabbed the blanket off his makeshift bed. When she brought it back, he was upright and sputtering. Handing the blanket to William, she knelt down with the rest of them. “John, are you all right?”
A huge smile lit his face as he shivered. “Heavens, I’m thankful to be alive! But let’s not do that again.”
“What happened?” This time it was William who asked the question.
“As we lay at hull, I thought that perchance the storm had calmed…and I was desperate for some fresh air.”
Dorothy gasped and covered her mouth.
Mary Elizabeth couldn’t believe it. “You went out there? On purpose?”
“Aye.” John nodded, his teeth chattering. “As soon as I was top deck, I knew the storm was indeed fierce…and the captain had rigged the ship just so to keep her upright.” He pulled the blanket tighter around him. “Before I knew it, a huge wave blasted me, and I went sailing overboard. The ship almost turned on her side, and I was able to grab hold of the topsail halyards.”
William’s eyebrows shot up. “Unbelievable, man! Go on.”
“I held on as tight as I could, but the sea took me way down into its depths and I was afraid I was done for until the sailors pulled me up by the rope and then grabbed me with a boat hook. After they saved me, Mr. Coppin tossed me down the steps and told me not to go on deck again during a storm.” John’s laugh turned into a scratchy cough. “I’ll say it again—I’m thankful to be alive.”
Mary Elizabeth shook her head. “Let’s get you to your bed, Mr. Howland. You’ve got to get warmed up and dry.”
Dorothy smiled. “Why don’t you let David and me help him, Mary Elizabeth?” She helped the man to his feet, and David took a spot under John’s arm. “I’m sure we will need something for Mr. Howland to drink and eat.”
William caught Mary Elizabeth’s elbow as she turned. “How can I help?”
“Could you get a ration for John to eat?”
The look on his face showed disappointment.
Just like she felt. If only the circumstances were different and they could spend time together.
“Certainly.” His nod made her heart ache.
Reaching out, she grabbed his hand. “Thank you, William.”
William worked to keep steady as the ship thrashed about. There was so much to record in his journal. While seasickness had laid most of the passengers ill, the signs of scurvy had begun to set in on some of the sickest passengers. Mr. Heale had warned them all, but what could they do? Everything was rationed daily, even though many complaints were heard. A lot of people feared they would die anyway, so why coul
dn’t they have more food?
William knew what it felt like to retch after each tiny meal and then feel half-starved to death. With no land in sight and no end to the tumultuous seas, he feared people would start to revolt. If they found the energy to move.
The Saints made it clear at the beginning of the voyage that they wanted the rest of the ship to follow their rules and religious practices. The Strangers didn’t want much to do with the Separatists and their strict rules, so the trip hadn’t started off in a congenial manner. Then came that awful sailor and his insults. When the seas turned on them all, as well, the storms came one after another. Then came the sickness. Between that and the stench, they’d all just about gone mad.
He stopped writing and held the quill above the page. What could he report truthfully? How could he honor this job for Mr. Crawford and the other investors? Right now, the outcome of the Mayflower’s voyage appeared grim. But William had come to care for their small band of travelers—these colonists who all shared a common goal. There had to be a way to gain a positive result.
The more he thought about the quandary, the more his heart felt heavy. It wasn’t just the storms, the horrendous seas, or even their great delay—a greater problem existed.
The rift between the people on board. Saints and Strangers.
The thing was, William was a Stranger. Yet he found himself drawn increasingly to the ways and beliefs of the Separatists. His time with Elder Brewster had made him question his thoughts of God and examine his previous doubts. The valiant sacrifice each of these people made to stay true to their beliefs was beyond question.
To sum it all up? At the root of it all was the faithfulness to scripture.
That’s how Paul had believed. For years, he’d tried to convey the same thing to William.
The chance to meet with Mr. Brewster had been enlightening, but how could he ease the misery of the fellow passengers when they didn’t even trust one another?
The problem seemed too difficult to solve by himself.
Crack!
The sound was of wood splintering. And not just any wood. It had to be some large beam. The ship shifted hard to the right and William lost his balance. Righting himself, he grabbed the journal and tucked it back into the trunk and locked it.
The Mayflower Bride Page 10
