With a gasp, she remembered the nightmare. Once again, Mason battled a storm. She could see him at the wheel while the battered ship dove in and out of giant waves like a drowning man gulping for air. In one swoop, the ocean swallowed him beneath its depths.
Oh, Lord, take care of my Mason, she prayed. Bring him back home to me.
Chapter 7
July slipped into the torrid days of August. Jule thanked God daily for the constantly blowing breezes off the ocean that helped cool the air. Papa improved at a much slower pace than the family desired, but the doctor warned his recovery could take several weeks. The family once more resumed their high spirits, especially Joshua, who thrived in his position with the fishing boat. His joking and teasing kept them amused, and when he delivered his daily catch to Galveston, he habitually brought home a tasty treat or newspaper for Papa.
One morning, Joshua gave up a few hours of fishing to transport Jule to Galveston for a shopping trip with Esther Channing. Before Mason had left, he’d given Jule money to purchase whatever she needed to fashion her wedding gown, and Jule felt it only proper to consult his mother. Mrs. Channing assisted her in selecting a beautiful white silk fabric, yards of imported lace, and hundreds of tiny pearl-like beads.
Jule marveled at how her relationship with Mason’s mother deepened. She found Mrs. Channing warm and friendly, quite different from the way she had first treated Jule. Later, Esther invited her to spend a few days in Galveston and take in the opera, partake in elegant dining, be fitted for new gowns, and enjoy a host of other niceties available to those who could afford them. Jule declined the invitation and those that followed with a meticulously written regret. Until Papa fully regained his health, she must fulfill her responsibilities at the lighthouse.
Jule stole moments from each day to sew her wedding dress while counting the days until Mason returned. This particular morning, while stitching the tiny white beadwork into place on the bodice of her wedding gown, Jule hummed a little song Mama had sung to her as a child. She couldn’t remember the words, only the tune. With a heavy swoosh of the fabric, she grasped it close to her body and envisioned the admiring look on Mason’s face when she wore it. The wrists and hem needed beadwork as well, and then the dress would be ready.
She expected Mason home any day. She’d hoped he would have arrived by now with the advantage of good winds, yet the uncertainty of the weather and the additional cargo taken on in New York could have easily detained him.
A rap at the door aroused her attention. Her family seldom had visitors unless a ship’s crew sought refuge during a storm or a curious government official desired a tour of the lighthouse. Neither was the case today. She listened as Papa greeted the caller. Delighted to hear the deep booming voice of Mr. Channing, she hurried to the door.
“Mr. Channing, how nice to see you,” she said to the distinguishedlooking gentleman. “What a pleasant surprise.” She loved his kindly mannerisms. In fact, she’d never seen him as a tyrant like Mason claimed. Over the weeks of his absence, she had begun to wonder if Mason had misjudged his father.
The elderly man removed his captain’s hat and extended his hand to grasp hers. “It is good to see you, too, dear. I apologize for not checking on you or your father before now, and I am glad to see he is recovering.” He nodded at Papa. “Mr. Portier, if you need anything, please let me know. I’d like to help in any way I can.”
Papa smiled. “Thank you. I have a good family, and they’re taking excellent care of me. Soon I’ll be climbing those lighthouse steps again and casting a fishing net alongside Joshua.”
Mr. Channing turned his attention to Jule. “May we talk? I need to discuss something with you.”
She saw the lines etched around his eyes—tired, reddened eyes, the familiar sign of worry often seen in Mason. Instantly dread seized her. “What about?” she asked.
He toyed with the bill of his cap. “I’d rather we talk about the matter inside.”
“Mason?” she whispered, fear rising like a change of tide.
“Yes…it’s about Mason,” he replied, meeting her gaze. “Please, I’d like for us to sit.”
Papa grasped the sides of his chair to stand, but Jule touched his shoulder and attempted a faint smile. “No need, Papa. I will show Mr. Channing into the parlor.”
Jule’s heart sounded as though it might burst from her chest. She willed it to stop, silently screamed for it to slow down. It might not be bad news, she told herself. Nevertheless, she shook uncontrollably.
“Good morning, Mr. Channing,” Mama said, crossing the parlor from the kitchen. She smiled then looked back and forth between the captain and Jule. “What is wrong?”
Jule took a deep breath. “Mr. Channing needs to talk to me about Mason.”
Her mother wrung her hands and moistened her lips. “I see. Would you care for some coffee?”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Portier.”
“Well…I will join Papa on the front porch.”
Somehow Jule managed to usher Mr. Channing to the sofa and seat herself in a chair near him. She perched on the edge, as all proper ladies should, but so did the captain. She felt dazed. Numb. She had to learn the news about her beloved Mason.
“Please, sir. What do you know about Mason?”
He tugged on his silver beard and pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “Last evening I received a wire from a business associate in South Carolina.” He paused and slowly unfolded the paper. Without glancing at it, he captured her anxious gaze. “Mason and his crew left New York on schedule. He should have been back before now, but a storm off the coast of Virginia must have overtaken them.” He offered the wire to her.
Bile rose in her throat. The paper slipped through her fingers, and Mr. Channing retrieved it from the faded rug.
“Would you like for me to read it to you?” he inquired.
Jule shook her head. “No, sir. This…this has to be as difficult for you as it is for me.” She took it from him and began to read:
To Thomas Channing:
Captain Mason Channing and crew of the Flying Fish feared lost during storm off Virginia coast. No trace of ship found. All presumed dead. Please advise.
Jule blinked back the stinging tears and held the missive to her heart. It could not be true. There must have been a mistake. She crumpled the paper in her hands then smoothed it out and reread it.
“They haven’t found any of the ship’s remains,” she managed. “There’s hope. Possibly an unexpected delay or Mason went ashore to make repairs.”
“I pray to God you are right,” he quietly replied.
She shuddered. Tears splashed against her cheeks, and she buried her face in her hands. “I pray for him every day. I can’t believe God would take him from us. Oh, Lord,” she sobbed, “Mason and his whole crew.”
The captain stood and pulled her to him. He spoke in a tone of comfort and hope, but in her sorrow, Jule only heard the soft timbre of his voice. Unfathomable grief overwhelmed her. Uncharacteristically, she openly shed an ocean of tears for the man she loved.
“I, too, refuse to believe he is gone,” Mr. Channing finally said. “My son is the best clipper captain around. He understands the ways of the sea, and he vowed not to take any chances.”
Mason had made Jule the same promise.
With great effort, she lifted her head from his chest. “I will never give up hope—never.”
“Neither will I. We must pray and trust in God’s provision.” He brushed aside a single tear from his weathered cheek.
Nodding, she bit down hard on her lower lip and reached for his hand still clasped firmly around her shoulder. “Until he returns, I will keep my nightly post in the lighthouse. No ship will ever lose its way because of me. Someday…someday Mason will see the light as he enters the bay, and I will be waiting.”
Jule stumbled through the following days. By night she tended the light, rarely sleeping between her duties. By day, she busied herself in helping Mama and P
apa. When idleness approached, she walked the beach— always searching for signs of a boat heading to Bolivar Point. Mama and Joshua offered to take over the lighthouse responsibilities, but Jule could not relinquish the job for even one night.
Mama finished Jule’s wedding dress and tucked it away in a trunk. Jule could not bear to look at it or talk about the probability of Mason lost at sea. The once-open relationship she had shared with her mother vanished as Jule retreated into her own quiet world.
Papa voiced his growing concern about her listlessness and lack of appetite. “Mason would not want you to pine away for him,” her father said. “We all love you too much to see you this way. Please, eat and keep up your strength. If God wills for Mason to return, he will not want to see you pale and thin, but healthy and beautiful. He remembered you as lovely as a crystal blue sea; that is how he would want to see you again.”
Papa made sense, and she considered his wise words. Jule saw how hard her family worked to ease her grief, saying and doing special things to let her know of their concern. Joshua made it a point to bring her favorite lemon drops from Galveston. Mama added her favorite breads and vegetables to their meals, but Jule found it difficult to abide by their wishes. Her stomach seemed to churn constantly, ready to revolt at a moment’s notice.
Her solace became prayer and meditation upon God’s Word. One night at her post in the lighthouse, she turned to Psalm 121 and felt God’s loving arms around her:
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth. He will not suffer thy foot to be moved; he that keepeth thee will not slumber. Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord is thy keeper: the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand. The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul. The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from the time forth, and even for evermore.
“Thank You, Lord,” she whispered, clutching the treasured Bible to her heart. “No matter what happens or how long it takes for Mason to return, I will rest in Your shadow and trust in Your care.”
Chapter 8
Mason struggled to open his eyes, but each time he made the attempt, pain seared through his head. He craved water, but he couldn’t voice his thirst. He heard voices, but he couldn’t respond. Frustrated and desperately seeking answers to the fate of his men and the Flying Fish, he tried again to contact those around him. Useless. His world spun like a whirlpool, and he reeled in the center of confusion and pain. He struggled in the maze to lift his hands, lost the battle, and slipped into unconsciousness.
When Mason finally emerged from the fog and his eyes fluttered open, he focused on his surroundings. His immediate world looked small, and as the cloud slowly lifted from his vision, he studied the scant items in the room. He lay on a bed covered in clean, threadbare linens. Over him, a faded quilt in pink and blue was tucked beneath his chin, which he detested. Mason loathed coverlets around his face, but he could not loosen them. Fear gripped him. Paralyzed. From below his chest, his body seemed numb, devoid of any feeling. Is this what his disobedience to God had cost? Death would be a blessing compared to living his life maimed by his own folly. Losing his desire to scrutinize the room, he closed his eyes and floated with the rest of his body into blissful sleep.
Sometime later he awoke again. Glancing about, Mason saw the sun streaming through a solitary window, and from its angle, he estimated the time as midday. Again he allowed his head to clear and determined not to sink into the unconscious state that provided no answers to those questions plaguing his mind.
I’m alive. The sudden thought startled him. God spared my wretched soul. But for what and why? Where am I, and what about my crew…and the ship?
The details of the violent storm and his plea for God to save them flashed vividly through his mind. How had he gotten to this place? Some of his crew must have survived. The last thing he remembered were his desperate cries to God and the realization of his sinful pride.
Mason’s gaze trailed to the lone Bible near his bed. He turned his head to view it, but a fierce pounding left huge beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his face. Slowly, he pulled his hand from beneath the quilt and coaxed the coverlet from his chin. He gently examined his brow with his fingers and found a bandage wrapped around his forehead so snugly that he couldn’t budge it. Tracing his fingers back across the top of his head, he felt his hair matted together, most likely with dried blood.
A recurring nightmare of him paralyzed crossed his mind and sickened him. Swallowing hard, he fought the pain to examine each arm and leg to make sure his limbs were intact. Mason had seen enough good seamen crippled and looked upon with pity. He deserved no less; God knew his unfaithfulness. He felt a thick bandage around his chest, most likely signifying broken ribs, which accounted for his painful breathing. With praises of thanks on his lips, Mason closed his eyes and tried one more time to recall what happened on board the Flying Fish. Nothing. The not knowing disturbed him. He, Captain Mason Channing, clipper master of the seas, had no inkling how he had reached land and who might have survived.
Releasing a heavy breath, he once more marveled at how God had seen fit to save him.
A few moments later, when he’d gained enough strength to open his eyes again, he looked about the room. A straight, ladder-back chair rested against the wall by the window, its cane seat in sore need of repair. Beside the bed stood a table with a Bible. He’d noted this before. Indeed, this haven of repose was small. If he stretched, he could touch the opposite wall with his toes.
Again the welfare of his crewmen ranked utmost in his mind.
The door creaked open, and a matronly woman entered. Clad in a gray, homespun dress, she smiled. Despite her homeliness, in Mason’s eyes only Jule or his mother would have looked lovelier.
“Good afternoon, Captain Channing,” she said. “I see you have decided to join us.”
He braved a faint grin. “God has brought me back from the dead, ma’am.” His first attempts at speaking sounded foreign, strained.
“For certain He has.” She brightened. “My name is Nelly Shatterman, and I’ve been takin’ care of you since your crew landed and brought you to my home.”
“My crew?” Mason wet his lips and started to lift his head, but the excruciating pain forced him back to the pillow. He groaned and closed his eyes while he waited for the throbbing to ease.
“Ma’am…do you know what happened? I don’t remember anything except the storm.”
She placed a large hand on his forehead, and Mason was surprised to discover that the action felt comforting. “Good, no fever,” she murmured. “Captain, you have laid in this bed for ten days, and before then you were lost at sea with a broken ship for nigh on to a week. That’s all I know. Your first mate has been here twice a day checkin’ on you, and he’ll be back this evening.”
Mason swallowed hard. The energy spent since he opened his eyes had taken its toll. Gratefully though, some of his crew had reached safety, and Pete had looked in on him every day. A tear slipped from his eye. He didn’t deserve kindness with the way he had dishonored God.
“Drink a little water,” Nelly urged. He hadn’t noticed the mug in her hand. “I know it will hurt, but I will support your head a little to help.”
Mason tried to oblige, but he nearly passed out. It took several long moments for the water to trickle down his throat. Vaguely he remembered the same procedure.
“Now rest,” Nelly said. “It’s a miracle you are alive.”
Mason didn’t need any persuasion. He easily succumbed to the wave of blackness sweeping over him. Much later, he opened his eyes to flickering candlelight on the table beside him. He’d been dreaming about the captain reading the Bible. As gruff as the man ofttimes appeared, Thomas Channing loved the Lord. Mason hoped he might soon be able to tell his father how much he loved him.
Blinking,
he felt determined to find out if Pete had been there since he last awoke. There were so many things he needed to know.
“Cap’n?” a voice whispered.
Mason sensed a new surge of energy. “Pete?” he asked.
The lone chair scraped across the wood floor, and he saw his old friend smiling. “You old rascal,” Mason said, with a faint grin. “You sure look good. What happened? What about the crew? Where are we?”
Pete chuckled. “Slow down, and I’ll tell you everything. Otherwise, you’ll wear yourself out and won’t hear a thing until morning.”
Mason started to nod, but the pain in his head stopped him. “All right,” he whispered. “The storm is all I remember.”
“The mainmast snapped in two and fell on you,” Pete began. “You were knocked out cold, but I couldn’t tend to you for the wind and water. You were lucky to have been tied to a strong mast, or you’d have been washed away.”
“The men on the footropes?” Mason uttered.
Pete paused. “Cap’n, they’re gone; nothing I could do to save ’em.”
“How many?”
“Four crewmen and one unaccounted for,” Pete replied, shaking his head. “But the rest of us survived. I thought the wind would tear her in two, but God answered our prayers.”
Mason arched a brow. “Prayer? In all the years we’ve been sailing together, I’ve never been able to interest you in God or prayer.”
Pete removed his cap and laid it beside the Bible. “Didn’t have to,” he said. “Always had you to do the prayin’, and I reaped the benefits. But you were unconscious and maybe dead, and with me bein’ first mate and all, well, I had to do the askin’. Cap’n, I ain’t ashamed to say I cried out to the Lord and told Him I’d rather He have my soul and live with Him than die and pay the devil his due. I told Him most of the crew didn’t know Him either and needed another chance.”
Mason wanted to laugh, but it hurt to move. “It’s worth this pain to know you’re a believer.”
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