But truthfully, she had no idea how to effect such a transformation.
She needed the attentions she received from men as much as she needed food for her body. They fed an insatiable hunger within her.
But like any good meal, the satisfaction they brought never lasted long, and soon she was starving again.
Turning, Hope averted her eyes from the rolling sea that only increased her queasiness. From the other side of the brig, Miss Sheldon waved and smiled as she wove her way through the working crew toward Hope. Some of the sailors stopped to wipe the sweat from their brows and allowed their gazes to follow after the young lady. Though taller than most women, Miss Sheldon glowed with an innocent beauty that reminded Hope of a fresh spring morning, and her behavior matched the propriety with which she carried herself. Perhaps Hope could elicit her help. Perhaps Miss Sheldon could teach Hope how to be a real lady.
“Good morning, Miss Hope.” She grinned and tugged her bonnet further down atop a bounty of chestnut curls. “Where is your hat? This sun is merciless.”
Hope tugged on a loose curl, torn from its pins by a blast of wind, ashamed she could never keep her hair secured in a befitting style. Always a rebellious strand or two would break free and flutter about with each shift of the breeze. “I seem to have forgotten it below.”
“Shall I retrieve it for you?” Miss Sheldon’s caring tone gave Hope a start, but she politely declined. She deserved a far worse beating than the fiery rays lashing down upon her.
Miss Sheldon’s brow wrinkled and she touched Hope’s arm. “Are you ill? You appear a bit pale.”
Hope wanted to tell her that her mouth was as dry as a desert, her stomach a brewing caldron, and her head engaged in a battle, but it had all been her doing, and she deserved no sympathy. “Nay, I am fine.”
With a look of genuine concern, Miss Sheldon slid beside Hope and turned to face her. “I am so sorry the men distressed you last night. It was incorrigible of them to make such accusations.” A smatter of freckles on her forehead—the only mar on her otherwise creamy white skin—crinkled into a tiny blotch.
Hope urged a smile to her lips. If you only knew the truth, you’d not be standing here beside me. Or would she? Miss Sheldon’s eyes carried not a hint of judgment or condemnation.
The captain emerged from below, tipped his hat at Hope and Miss Sheldon, then planted his boots on the deck and his fists on his hips as he surveyed his kingdom. Hope swallowed a lump of disdain. ’Twas the pompous captain who had broached the topic of Hope and Nathaniel’s relationship last night. And he’d done so on purpose. In fact, as he glanced her way now, raising his eyebrows at her, he seemed to be gloating in his victory.
Hope shifted her attention to Mr. Keese, standing tall upon the quarterdeck. He had nodded at her earlier when she’d come on deck, but he’d made no effort at conversation. The smirk on his face had said quite enough. Beyond him, lazing upon a barrel beneath the shade of a sailcloth strung over his head, Mr. Hendrick sipped a drink, unconcerned with his sick wife below.
Movement caught her eye as Nathaniel emerged from the stern of the brig with cross-staff, divider, and chart in hand. Her heart lurched. She hadn’t seen him come on deck, and of course he hadn’t made his presence known to her. Why would he? Laying his instruments across a table beside the helm, he glanced over the brig. Their gazes met. Hope looked away, unable to bear the disapproval she knew would be upon his face.
Captain Conway swerved about. “You there! Mr. Mason. Attend the weather topsail braces.”
Despite herself, Hope turned back toward Nathaniel.
He glanced up at the white sails fluttering under a light wind then back down at his captain. His jaw stiffened, then he stomped down the quarterdeck ladder and headed toward the foremast to do the captain’s bidding.
Never once glancing her way.
“Mr. Mason seems quite the gentleman.” Miss Sheldon’s gaze followed him.
Hope’s heart cinched at the girl’s appraisal. Shrugging it off, Hope watched as Nathaniel marched across the deck, unavoidably admiring the way his tan breeches clung to his narrow waist and muscular thighs. How could she fault Miss Sheldon for her attraction to him? He truly was a gentleman: kind, quick-witted, and chivalrous. He deserved someone like Miss Sheldon—a sweet, godly woman. But somewhere deep within Hope sparked a longing to prove to him she could indeed change, that she could become a proper lady despite her abhorrent behavior last night.
Miss Sheldon’s hazel eyes sparkled. “He seems quite taken with you.”
Hope blinked. “I fear you are mistaken, Miss Sheldon.”
“Call me Abigail, please.”
“Abigail, I assure you his kindness toward me stems from his godly principles alone. I would say we are naught but mere acquaintances.”
Hope’s gaze once again locked upon Nathaniel as he tore off his waistcoat, dropped it to the deck, and flung himself into the shrouds. His white shirt flapped in the breeze, and the muscles in his arms bulged as he climbed the ratlines up the foremast.
Miss Sheldon giggled. “Hmm, I see.”
A burst of heat stormed up Hope’s neck. Tearing her eyes from Nathaniel, she shifted her attention back to the captain, who glared up at his new navigator as if he were a Spanish infiltrator.
The brig crashed over a turquoise wave, and Hope glanced aloft again to ensure Nathaniel had not lost his footing. But the man continued his climb with the ease of a hardened sailor until he was no more than a dark shadow at the top of the mast.
“Why is the captain sending Mr. Mason aloft? Is he not the navigator?” Hope asked.
Abigail shrugged. “I suppose because the ship is inadequately manned.”
Standing beside the captain, Mr. Keese winked at Hope. She looked away, not wanting to encourage him further. And although she noticed the glances shot toward her and Abigail from all around, she must not encourage any of them either. Did Abigail notice the attention she drew? A sweet, trusting innocence beamed from her face, an innocence Hope knew she would never reclaim.
If only she could.
“Abigail, have you ever had a suitor?”
“Oh, heavens, no.” She blushed. “There was neither the opportunity nor any available gentlemen on Antigua, I’m afraid.”
“Surely you see the way men admire you.”
“I try not to, Miss Hope.” She gave her a sideways glance. “They admire only what they see on the outside, a beauty that fades and has nothing to do with who I am.” She turned to face the sea. “What a glorious day!” A gust of wind pressed her modest cotton gown against her thin frame, making her appear all the more frail and delicate, belying what Hope was beginning to realize—that this woman was anything but weak and dainty.
Hope ran a hand across the back of her neck, wiping away the droplets of perspiration. Clutching her fluttering gown, she pondered what Abigail had said. Hope had not considered the admiring looks she received were something to be shrugged away, meaningless and flighty. Yet she found Abigail’s words sparking through her mind, igniting her reason as a lantern in a dark room.
Hope smiled at her new friend. So much like her sister Grace, yet so different in many ways—more approachable, less judgmental. Yes, Hope could learn much from this pious, strong woman. She must spend as much time with her as she could. Perhaps observing Abigail’s saintly mannerisms would teach Hope to behave accordingly.
A sail snapped, and Abigail tipped her hat up, her hazel eyes sparkling with admiration. Nathaniel stood precariously on the fore top-yard. “My word, but he’s brave. I would die of fright up there.”
A hint of coquetry tinged her voice, and Hope’s exuberance of a moment ago shrank like the topgallant Nathaniel furled above. Even if she could learn to be a lady, even if she could put her past behind her, how could she ever compare with someone like Miss Sheldon?
The crown of a flowered straw hat appeared at the top of the companionway, and Mrs. Hendrick clambered onto the deck from below. Her daughter, Elis
e, gripped her mother’s hand and, with wide eyes, surveyed the brig. Hope thought she saw a shudder pass through the small child as she enfolded herself in her mother’s skirts, and Hope longed to assure her all was well despite the clamoring activity across the deck. But the scowl Mrs. Hendrick directed toward Hope stopped her. Gripping her stomach, the poor woman made her way to the railing, her face as white as the canvas that sped the brig on its course.
“Mrs. Hendrick. How do you fare this morning?” Abigail reached out to assist the woman. “And you, Miss Elise?”
The little girl smiled as Mrs. Hendrick gripped the railing like a lifeline and moaned.
“Can I get you something to eat?” Abigail placed a hand on the woman’s back.
Another moan. She leaned over the railing and closed her eyes. “Thank you, but I fear I won’t be eating for quite some time.”
“I’m glad you came above deck as I suggested. The fresh air will do you good.” Abigail took in a deep breath and held down her hat beneath another rush of wind.
Hope smiled at Elise, and the girl giggled in return, hiding in her mother’s skirts. But even amidst her nausea, Mrs. Hendrick managed to cast a warning glare at Hope and take a step away from her as if she were afflicted with some dread disease.
Blinking back the burning behind her eyes, Hope looked up to see Mr. Hendrick glance their way, but he resumed his conversation with Major Paine, who stood beside him, arms across his chest.
Hope’s blood boiled. The man seemed completely unconcerned with his wife’s plight. Next to him, Major Paine kept nodding at some grand wisdom the pompous man no doubt graced upon him, but his slit-like gaze locked upon Hope. A grin slithered over his thin lips.
Nathaniel dropped to the deck with a thump and started for the quarterdeck ladder.
“Mr. Mason, stow those barrels below,” the captain hollered, pointing to a cluster of four casks beneath the foredeck.
Halting in his tracks, Nathaniel narrowed his eyes upon the captain. He shifted his stance, and his lips twitched as if he battled to keep them closed. Finally, his chest heaved a sigh, and after a curt nod, he turned on his heels and headed toward the barrels, the clenching and unclenching of his fists the only indication of his inner turmoil.
Patches of sweat stained his white shirt, and he grimaced as he hefted the small drum onto his shoulder. Hope bit her lip. It was because of her Nathaniel wasn’t the one giving the orders. It was because of her he was forced to work so hard and be humiliated by a man with half his brains. For the first time in her life, Hope began to realize how her witless actions affected others. Had they affected her sisters, too? Her father?
Abigail’s gentle touch on Hope’s arm startled her. “I must go below. I promised to bring some food and water to a sick sailor. Can you look after Mrs. Hendrick?” She nodded toward the groaning woman leaning over the railing.
Hope shook her head and started to tell Abigail the woman would surely protest, when Mrs. Hendrick, in a severe tone, saved her the effort. “There is no need. I shall be fine.”
Hope shrugged. “I shall try,” she whispered, “but only for you.”
Abigail smiled and turned to leave, and as Hope watched her disappear below on her errand of mercy, she wondered how someone became so caring and selfless. Perhaps there was something missing from Hope, after all, some part of her heart God had forgotten to insert, for she could barely garner an ounce of sympathy for the suffering woman at her side—especially in light of the woman’s contempt for her.
The brig bucked, sending Mrs. Hendrick toppling, and Hope reached out, caught her by the waist, and steadied her against the railing. Elise clung to her mother and began to whimper.
“You’re with child.” Hope could not hide the surprise in her tone.
“How did you know?” Mrs. Hendrick looked down at her belly in horror.
“I felt the tender mound when I touched you just now.”
“Well, I’ll thank you to keep your hands to yourself,” she hissed and glanced down. “Elise, stop your fussing. Mother is sick. Be a good girl.”
“I can care for Miss Elise if you’d like.” Despite knowing Mrs. Hendrick would never allow such a thing, Hope couldn’t help but offer. She would gladly risk another cruel rejection for the chance to comfort the small, frightened girl.
Mrs. Hendrick gave a ladylike snort.
Which Hope understood as a no. “How many months along are you?”
“Seven.”
“Seven? I would have never guessed. You are so tiny.”
A smile, the first one Mrs. Hendrick had graced upon Hope, quickly faded from her lips. “Mr. Hendrick detests plump women, so I must try and keep my weight down.”
“Surely he understands you carry his child?”
“He is a man and does not bother himself with the details of childbearing.”
Hope’s jaw tensed. “It is not good for you. The baby needs nourishment.”
“What do you know of it?” Mrs. Hendrick snapped and shot her icy blue eyes toward Hope. “How many children have you carried?” She paused and allowed her gaze to scour Hope. “Or perhaps you do know.”
“How could I? I have never been married.” Hope swallowed a lump of shame.
“Humph.” Mrs. Hendrick glanced at her husband and adjusted the hat ribbon tied beneath her chin. She lifted her graceful nose and cultured eyebrows, but sorrow seemed to tug upon her high cheekbones and lustrous skin. Facing the sea, she held her stomach, and her face grew pale again.
Hope gazed across the endless ocean, its waves suddenly calm as if some invisible hand pressed down upon them. An eerie silence enveloped the brig, muffling even the occasional creak of wood and shout of the crew’s voices. The wind ceased, and Hope rubbed the perspiration from her neck and watched as wisps of black clouds spread their talons across the horizon.
“Eleanor!” A loud growl rumbled across the deck. “Come hither, Eleanor!” If possible, Mrs. Hendrick’s face grew even paler.
“I must speak to my husband.” Mrs. Hendrick grabbed Elise by the hand. “If you will excuse me.”
“Mother. May I stay here?” Elise tugged on her mother’s skirts.
“No Elise, come with me.”
“But Father is always so angry. Please let me stay.”
“I will watch her for you, Mrs. Hendrick.” Hope braced herself for the woman’s rebuff while at the same time offering her an encouraging smile.
Mrs. Hendrick shifted her gaze between Elise and Hope, her face in a pinch as if Hope had asked if she could throw her daughter to the sharks.
“What harm could possibly come to the girl?” Hope raised her brows.
“Very well. But I shall have my eye on you.” Mrs. Hendrick wagged a finger in Hope’s face before lifting her satin skirts and trudging up the quarterdeck ladder.
Finding a small crate in the shade of the foredeck, Hope sat and hoisted Elise into her lap, grateful to be able to take her weight off her sore feet. Nestling her face into the girl’s red curls, Hope breathed in the deep scent of innocence. Children always smelled fresh and pure—as if the cruel stench of the world had not yet been able to stick to them. “Are you afraid of the ship?”
Elise nodded, her wide blue eyes staring up at Hope’s. “A little bit, but Father says never to be afraid of anything.”
A gust of wind wafted over them. Elise’s curls slapped Hope’s face, and she brushed them aside, thankful for the sudden reprieve from the stifling heat. “I think it’s okay to be afraid sometimes.”
“You do?”
“Yes. But not of this brig. I know there are many men running about and lots of loud yelling, but each is doing his job.” Hope straightened the lace on Elise’s sleeves. “Do you know what that job is?”
The girl shook her head.
“To get you safely to Kingstown.”
“It is?” She glanced up at Hope with excitement.
Another blast of hot wind swept over them, fluttering Elise’s skirts.
“So you see, there is nothing to fear,” Hope announced, settling the fabric. “Except that this wind will whip our skirts off, I suppose.” They both giggled.
A loud shout from the quarterdeck drew their attention. “Blast it all, woman!” Mr. Hendrick’s booming voice echoed over the brig.
A shiver ran through Elise, and she began to finger the fringed tips of the lavender sash around her waist. “Are you afraid of your father, Miss Hope?”
Hope glanced at the red-faced man who had retaken his seat and was waving his wife away as if she were an annoying gnat. A deep sigh escaped Hope’s lips, if only to curb the anger rising within her and the memories that resurfaced. Growing up, Hope had often been frightened of her own father, and that fear did naught to foster the secure haven in which every child should be raised and nurtured.
“Men can be scary sometimes. They’re big, and they have deep voices like bears.” She dug her fingers like claws into Elise to tickle her, hoping to get her mind off her parents.
Elise’s giggle halted in a shriek as her mother grabbed her arm, tugged her from Hope’s lap, and stormed below without a word, dragging the poor girl behind. Hope’s last glimpse of the child was a flurry of red curls and wide, pleading eyes.
She rubbed her arms against a sudden chill despite the rising heat of the day, and stood. Stepping toward the railing, she clutched the hard wood until her fingers hurt. Children—and women—forever doomed to be at the mercy of those in power over them. Thoughts of her own childhood shoved their way into her mind. Her innocence stolen at so young an age. Her trust forever crushed.
Distant thunder growled, and the wind ceased again as if someone had opened and shut a door. The sea rose in mountainous swells like hump-backed monsters beneath a sheet of turquoise. The ship rocked. A black shroud consumed the entire horizon and sent out spindly fingers across the sky toward her as if intent on dragging her back into the swirling void. She trembled. A sense of evil and foreboding gripped her—a feeling that something or someone wanted to possess her, a feeling she’d had before, most recently at the Pink House Tavern in Charles Towne. Then, she had been rescued by Mr. Waite and her sister Faith. But now, who would save her?
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