by April Hill
Against the Wind
By
April Hill
©2014 by Blushing Books® and April Hill
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Hill, April
Against the Wind
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62750-529-1
Cover Design by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
Table of contents:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
About April Hill
Ebook Offer
Blushing Books Newsletter
Blushing Books
Chapter One
On the fourth of March, 1871, the tall, three-masted cargo vessel Elizabeth B. Portman sailed from Nantucket, bound for Newfoundland by way of Halifax, New Scotland. The Liza, as she was known affectionately by the men who sailed her, was a strong and sturdy coastal schooner of the type known as a tern, built wide in the beam for cargo, but fast enough to render each voyage highly profitable for her investors.
The Liza rode low in the water now, her spacious hold crammed with textiles, lumber and foodstuffs destined for the Maritime Provinces of Canada and the British protectorate of Newfoundland. On her anticipated quick return, she would come home heavily laden with English porcelain and the luxuriant Labrador pelts for which the prosperous and fashionable citizens of New York and Philadelphia were always eager to pay top dollar.
As it entered the third quarter of the 19th century, the ancient island of Nantucket was witnessing the fading twilight of a long and bloody episode in its history. Since the first scragg whale was sighted and summarily slain off its barren shores, generations of Nantucketers had gone to sea in search of that great gray leviathan whose oil had lit the lamps of young America for as long as anyone here could remember. Even before 1659, when the island was “purchased” by a Mr. Tristam Coffin, native fishermen had hunted for whale in tiny boats, armed with little more than wooden spears and raw courage. The 3000 Wampanoag who actually owned the island were, of course, neither consulted about the purchase price (thirty pounds and “two beaver hats … one for myself and one for my wife,”) nor recompensed in any manner for the loss of their homes and livelihood.
Justice for this theft would take two hundred years in coming, and while its coming did nothing at all for the swindled and now virtually extinct Wampanoag, there was a kind of sad and gentle irony in what happened. Just when it seemed that the generations of Nantucket whaling men who had prospered at the Wampanoags’ expense would see their children and grandchildren continue to reap the benefits of Mr. Coffin’s larceny, everything changed. It was as if a weeping God had foreseen the approaching doom of his most magnificent creature, and decided to intervene on the whales’ behalf. Then again, perhaps it was simply what was bound to happen in an increasingly profit-conscious world. With more American households being lit by oils cheaply manufactured from coal and petroleum, the once great whaling fleets of Nantucket and New Bedford began to dwindle. Before long, the square-rigged trying ships of old had virtually abandoned the waters of the Western Ocean and the perilous Grand Banks, leaving the pursuit of whales to only the boldest or greediest, and to the odorous steam vessels that had begun to ply the sea lanes in ever-increasing numbers.
From this point forward, and until the modern concept of “tourism” reared it head, the ancient island of Nantucket—the “Little Grey Lady of the Sea”— would learn to survive as a commercial entity, or die.
Under the command of Captain Ethan McAllister, the Liza had sailed north from the Carolinas to New York, collected additional cargo and a few passengers from the Nantucket community at Brant’s Bay, and had now set its course for Halifax. The day was fine and unusually mild for early March, and a light breeze filled the Liza’s sails as she glided seaward out of the harbor and past the light.
In addition to her able crew, the ship carried several paying passengers who had boarded at Nantucket. Among these were the Reverend Mr. Gideon Fowler, his wife Naomi, and their three children—nine-year-old Caleb, Chastity, who had turned sixteen just three days earlier, and their eldest, Emily. The family was accompanying Emily to Halifax, where she was to wed an extraordinarily wealthy young gentleman by the name of Harlan Withers II. The firm of Withers, Withers and Watson was a world-renowned importer of fine European porcelain and continental furnishings, and since young Mr. Withers was presumptive heir to both his father’s and uncle’s share of that company, it was grudgingly conceded amongst the unmarried ladies on the island (and their mothers) that Emily Fowler had made—against astonishing odds—“an excellent catch.” The happy couple, once wed, would sail on to London and take up residence in an elegant townhouse in Leicester Square—a residence the elder Mr. Withers had purchased and furnished as a wedding gift, from his own pocket.
While the Reverend and Mrs. Fowler were said to be delighted with the match, Emily herself had announced repeatedly that she would have married Satan himself to escape the confines of the tiny island community where she had lived all her life. At twenty-seven, Miss Fowler was by no means a young bride, and was widely regarded as unmarriageable, due in large portion to her quick temper and less-than-genteel demeanor. Nor had the young woman endeared herself to her Quaker neighbors, who were known far and wide for their great and noble forbearance. Indeed, a number of these same gentle folk had often expressed the opinion that Gideon and Naomi Fowler had obviously performed good deeds without number to have finally been rewarded with such an immense blessing—the marrying off of the flame-haired “Nantucket Terror.”
In fact, a good number of the family’s devout neighbors harbored a guilty wish that all of the unruly Fowler children would get his or her comeuppance—in God’s own good time, of course. Others in the village had given up the wait for heavenly intervention, and longed for more immediate justice—seeing each of the Fowler brats upended for a hard and distinctly unQuakerly spanking. Gideon, respected though he might be on the island, was generally viewed as a well-meaning but overly lenient father, who had permitted his offspring to intimidate not only their overwhelmed and bewildered mother, but their community, as well. It was a universally held opinion that “The Fearsome Fowler Fledglings,” as they were known, would have profited more from the use of a stout switch, a sturdy hairbrush, or a thick razor strop than from yet another reading from the Good Book.
Caleb, the youngest Fowler, was a charming, inquisitive child who envisioned his future as captain of a tall ship. He had recently begun skulking about the docks unsupervised, where he frequently helped himself to whatever untended nautical items caught his eye. Only the previous month, an incensed cod fisherman had caught the rascal stealing tackle for the third time, and while attempting to paddle the boy’s deservi
ng backside with his large, callused right hand, he had been severely bitten on his left.
In what had turned out to be an excess of parental optimism, the Fowlers had christened their middle child Chastity—a charming, Biblically inspired name that had inspired a wealth of mirthful comment within the tiny community. Having developed somewhat precociously, the plump and alluring Chastity had been found, since the tender age of fourteen, in a number of what were delicately alluded to as “compromising situations.” Due to a serious dearth of eligible men on the island, a distressingly large proportion of these situations had involved married or previously spoken-for gentlemen. It was rumored, perhaps maliciously, that Chastity made it a practice to meet every ship that docked at Nantucket, lasciviously inspecting its cargo of available and/or willing males. In the side-street taverns, where bored young men would wager on almost anything, the odds given on Chastity Fowler reaching her sixteenth birthday still intact were very, very slim.
And then, of course, there was Emily.
Had her reputation not preceded her, the Fowler’s elder daughter might have been an appealing match for any number of the island’s eligible young men, of which, as already mentioned, there was a lamentable shortage. Emily’s indulgent family was sufficiently well situated to provide her a sumptuous wedding and a handsome dowry, and the young woman herself was always referred to as an unusually pretty little thing, small and delicate of build, with hair the color of a New England autumn, milk-fair skin, and a quick (or sharp) wit. There were, of course, many other men who regularly passed through Nantucket, or conducted business there, but Reverend Fowler had found none of these off-islanders to be appropriate husband material for his lovely but highly spirited daughter. (Gideon much preferred the word “spirited” to many of the other appellations used locally in describing his first-born.)
Mr. Fowler, despite having answered the call to spread the Gospel among the heathens, was a moderately well-off gentleman, having been born into an old and moneyed Quaker family, and being himself of an uncommonly thrifty nature. Nevertheless, a marriage such as he and his good wife had finally arranged for Emily was a fine thing—a feather in the Fowler cap, as it were. Mr. Harlan Withers II was still young, reportedly in robust good health, and undeniably rich. His photograph showed him to be presentable and even pleasant-looking (though perhaps a bit fleshy about the mouth and neck.) The most welcomed news of all, however, was that once she was wed, Emily would reside in London, thousands of miles from Nantucket. This was a prospect that seemed to gladden the heart of her long-suffering mother, and as the wedding date and Emily’s departure grew nearer, Mr. Fowler commented to friends that he had never known his dear wife to be in such exuberant good spirits.
As the family stood on deck that morning, watching the preparations for getting underway, Mrs. Fowler was positively giddy with excitement, waving ebulliently to friends on the dock and chattering with delight about the upcoming adventure. Only Emily appeared to be less than pleased.
“You needn’t be quite so cheerful, Mother,” she observed dryly. “You’re still burdened with me for the few days of this tedious voyage.”
“What an unkind thing to say, my dear,” Mr. Fowler interposed hastily. “Your mother and I will miss you terribly, as will your brother and your dear sister.”
“I rather doubt that,” Emily snapped, with a toss of her head. “My dear sister Chastity has already confiscated what was my bedroom, and a good portion of my clothing. I suppose I should be grateful to have been left in possession of my drawers and my hairpins!”
Chastity sneered. “I’m quite sure your ever-so-rich Mr. Withers will be happy to buy you as many dresses as you need, and boxes of dainty new drawers as well.”
Their mother flushed. “Please, girls, it isn’t polite to discuss one’s underthings aloud.”
Chastity leaned over and whispered in her sister’s ear. “Besides, you’re probably a good deal more worried about that tender moment when Mr. Withers removes your drawers, aren’t you, Emily? Or slips out of his own, perhaps?”
Emily regarded her younger sister coolly. “It’s not yet spring, sweet sister, and the voyage may well be quite rough. I’ve heard that people are lost overboard regularly in such high seas. A missed step, a fall, an accidental nudge … and then, a gruesome, freezing death!”
Chastity stuck her tongue out and danced away, leaving her older sister to gaze mournfully out to sea. As she stood there, Emily was hoping to cut a tragic figure—tall, willowy, and tragically doomed. But Emily was not tall and willowy, as she had so often imagined herself. She was something less than five feet and three inches in her stockinged feet, and rather more delicate than buxom. Her skin was very fair, even pale, and her eyes in a certain light were as green as the sea she now gazed upon. When she spent too many hours in the sun, the bridge of her nose was prone to developing a sprinkling of freckles, which she detested and had fought with every cream and ointment she could order from the ladies’ shops in Boston. Her best feature, as she had been told to the point of boredom, was her waist-length, red-gold hair, which her father liked to describe as copper. But Emily longed for the dusky complexion, high color, and raven-black tresses of the Spanish and Portuguese women she had seen on the ships that called in this small port. They were the sort of women whose dark, exotic beauty invited romance and intrigue—not like her freckles.
Emily’s greatest fear, though she had never spoken it aloud, was that she would live here on this tiny island forever—a middle-class frump married to a merchant or a bookkeeper. Or worse yet, she could well become the lonely, embittered wife of a long-away-from home sea captain. The extended Fowler family were themselves successful merchants with thriving businesses in Boston and Plymouth, yet Emily had visited these bustling cities only briefly. On her rare trips to the city, she was always carefully chaperoned, scrupulously sheltered from any stray whiff of corruption or wickedness that might taint the privileged air she breathed. It was the Reverend Fowler’s firm belief that young ladies were meant to remain at home with their mothers, and schooled there as well, until they were eventually handed off to their future husbands as respectful, well-behaved, and virtuous young women. Of these highly regarded traits, virtue was the only one to which Emily could still lay any sort of claim—and that only from lack of opportunity.
When her father had first approached her with the younger Mr. Withers’ offer of marriage, Emily had quickly rejected the proposal, since she knew the Withers to be business associates, far wealthier than her own family, and quite probably just as straight-laced and boring. And while the mention of a lovely London townhouse had substantially improved the younger Mr. Withers’ chances of acceptance, it was the arrival and departure of her twenty-seventh birthday that had caused Emily to seriously rethink his proposal. She saw herself as aging rapidly, with no more luminous prospects in her dreary future. And finally, with the prospect of spinsterhood on dreary Nantucket facing her, she finally consented—with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm—to become Mrs. Harlan Withers II.
Today, however, as she prepared to sail off to meet her potential bridegroom, Emily’s early doubts were again troubling her. Although she had never met Mr. Withers II, his frequently tedious and overly florid letters had made her extremely uneasy. His photograph showed a soft, fleshy young man, fashionably attired but rather stiff looking in his demeanor, with smallish eyes. She had begun to realize that being married, even in a beautiful house in a sophisticated city like London, could still be a very tiresome thing when attached legally to a man she neither knew nor loved. But now, with the plans made and contracts signed, it was too late. Emily had burned too many bridges in her haste to escape. Still, there was always the chance that Mr. Harlan Withers II would be more interesting in the flesh than in his letters. He could hardly be less.
She turned away from the railing and went below to their cabin, unwilling to watch as the ship left behind the only home she had ever really known, or until this moment, appreciated.
The few days at sea were to be difficult for the Liza’s passengers. As a working freight vessel, the ship had not been designed for the needs and comfort of travelers, and its few berths were cramped and close. While the elder Fowlers spent most of their waking hours below, weak with sea-sickness, the younger two made themselves a constant annoyance on deck, with young Caleb pestering the crew interminably and Chastity flirting incessantly with the rough sort of men she had never known before—men who were more than willing to flatter and toy with a pretty young thing whenever they could steal a moment or two away from their duties.
Emily kept to herself, reading. Sometimes she stood on deck, staring for long periods at the distant horizon, where she knew she would soon see the dreary coast of Nova Scotia, and eventually, the city of Halifax itself. She had little in common with the few other adult passengers, and her two siblings irritated and bored her. In fact, everything about the voyage irritated Emily, and with each day that passed, her irritation increased. Bad weather had slowed their passage, and the ship was uncomfortable in the extreme. It was impossible to stay warm or properly clean and groomed. Her mother, especially, had suffered intensely, barely leaving her sleeping quarters since they sailed. Emily believed that if she never saw another ship, it would be too soon, yet after her marriage, she would have a considerably longer voyage to England. As the days progressed and the weather turned even worse, she complained at length to whomever would listen, until the crew began to avoid her, disliking both her complaints and her tendency to snap at them as though they were her personal servants.
On the evening of their fifth day at sea, Emily walked on deck in a cold rain, watching with little interest as Caleb poked and prodded at everything they passed and swung perilously from each rope or railing he could reach. Soon enough, Caleb’s mischief caught the eye of a crotchety sailor they knew as Denton, who stumped over to them on a withered leg. He slapped the boy’s hands away from the neatly coiled rope Caleb was attempting to uncoil.
