by April Hill
On the captain’s direct order, Emily kept mostly to her cabin, and ventured on deck only to find herself in someone’s way and to be escorted not-so politely back to safety. She spent her hours entertaining young Harry Eakins, who had come down with an unsightly case of what Ethan feared was measles. Having already had the disease as a child, Emily was appointed nurse, but she knew that the real reason for her appointment was Ethan McAllister’s wish to keep her safely below.
For three days, they made almost no progress, fighting gale-force winds that moaned in the rigging and drowned the galley fires, making hot food or coffee a fondly remembered luxury. The sea became a dark menace, rising in mountainous swells that towered over the ship and sent tremors shuddering through the Liza’s hull as they crashed relentlessly over her sturdy bow. When the ship heeled over heavily, every loose or unsecured item flew from the shelves and cupboards and crashed onto the cabin’s wet floors. Chairs and trunks slid from one side of the room to the other like doll’s furniture, smashing into the bulkheads. The shriek of the wind and the noise of braking furniture drove Emily to scream in frustration at her oblivious and spotted young patient, who continued his cheerful chatter without pause, and saw no valid reason to interrupt the game of cards he was currently winning.
“Harry!” she wailed, grabbing frantically on to the edge of the bunk to keep from being thrown to the floor again. “Does it bother you at all that we are all about to die, soon?”
Harry waved his hand airily. “It’s nothing but a squall, Miss. An uncommon hard one, but regular enough when we’re homeward bound from the Banks like we are. The Liza’s built to run fleetly before a gale like this, and Cap’n Mac always makes the run from the Banks with loss of neither spar nor sail. I’ll wager you that there’s no more skilled a skipper under canvas, anywhere. After we make land at Cape Breton, we’ll be sailing more coastwise, and he can shorten sail and hove to if the winds get–”
“Coastwise,” she repeated uneasily. “Is that good?”
Harry yawned. “Well, we’ll be off these high seas, at least, but there’s still the shoals, and ice, and rocks aplenty, and no end of shallows to run aground and tear out the bottom of–”
“That’s enough, Harry,” she said. “I believe I’d rather not know that much, just now. Deal us another game, and I’ll try not to throw up on the board, again.”
By morning, the worst of the storm had passed, and they were left with fog, rain, and bitter cold. Pale, and still recovering from a long night of nausea, Emily wrapped herself in a damp blanket and made her way on deck. On the quarterdeck, she found Ethan talking with the ship’s carpenter about the damage.
“Good morning, Miss Fowler,” he said. “You look like a drowned cat, if you don’t mind my saying so. How is young Eakins faring? “
“Sleeping like a baby and holding down everything he eats, which is a good deal more than can be said of myself,” she groaned. “Harry’s a far better sailor than I, I’m afraid.”
McAllister laughed. “And a better card-player, unless I miss my guess.”
“Indeed, he is. I’m very much afraid I’ve squandered my inheritance, if Harry insists upon payment of my gambling losses. Has the ship suffered serious damage?”
Ethan shook his head. “No. She’s a strong old girl. A bit battered here and there, but nothing we can’t set right once we’ve put ashore at Cape Breton. We’ll be laid up for several days, though. You’ll want some drying out, I imagine, and the men need a rest. There’s a physician there, to see to you and to Mr. Eakins as well, should you require it.”
“Actually, I have a friend on Cape Breton,” Emily said, suddenly remembering her old governess, Margaret. “She lives somewhere quite near the coast, I believe. The lady was my governess and my very best friend when I was young, Miss Margaret Duncan, a very dear woman.”
“And an immensely patient one, I would suppose,” he remarked with a grin. “Knowing you as I have come to. Tell me, Miss Fowler, was it your hideous behavior as a child that drove the poor, shattered woman to live here, at the edge of the known world?”
Emily blushed. “Not at all, Captain. Margaret was born on Cape Breton, She returned there to take care of her elderly mother, who has since passed away. I write to her at least six times a year. She lives in a small village, and cares for her young nephew. If we are there for several days, perhaps I can arrange to visit her?”
He nodded. “I see no reason why not. I, too, have a friend on the island whom I would like to visit.”
That next evening, in need of a breath of fresh air, Emily came on deck and sat quietly on an empty keg in the bow, hoping to avoid the boys’ endless chatter. The evening had turned surprisingly warmer, and a soft breeze lifted her hair as she sat there, thinking about tomorrow’s landing. There was almost no moon, and the sea was totally dark save for the running lights that glistened on the moving water. Amidships, several of the crew were talking and laughing, and Big Eli was perched atop the windlass, playing his ever-present concertina. It was pleasant but sad, listening to the camaraderie between them, and Emily was suddenly overcome by a wave of homesickness. She put her hands to her face, weeping silently. Moments later, she felt, rather than heard, steps behind her.
“Miss Fowler?” Ethan McAllister’s voice was soft, and in it she heard concern and curiosity. Quickly, she wiped her eyes, and stood up.
“Forgive me, Captain, I didn’t hear you approach. Am I in the way, here?”
He shook his head, motioning for her to sit down again.
“Not at all. I thought you might be cold.” He placed a knitted shawl across her shoulders. “This garment belonged, as I recall, to a fashionable matron from Charleston, who was so eager to leave the confines of my ship that she left behind a fair amount of her luggage. I’m afraid a voyage by sea is not everyone’s idea of time well-spent. If you’re familiar with the writings of Dr. Johnson, you may remember his astute observation that a ship is much like a prison, but with an excellent chance of drowning.”
Emily laughed. “I will write that in my diary. Father would enjoy it. Thank you for the shawl, as well.”
“It’s actually very warm for this place, at this season. If this evening’s fine weather holds, which I hope, our return to Halifax should be an easy one. Do you anticipate that your father will be waiting for you there?”
“No. I will return to Nantucket by myself.” She sighed deeply, and said nothing more for several moments. “I’m afraid, Captain, that my homecoming will not be an occasion for celebration. I have sorely tried my family’s patience. It wouldn’t surprise me to know that they have no wish to see me return, at all.”
“I believe that you’re being far too hard on yourself, Miss.”
“You, of all people, Captain, should be keenly aware of the turmoil I’ve created. I blush to confess that, were I some years younger, my parents might well have exacted the same sort of vengeance from me that you have.”
“Vengeance?” he asked quietly. “If what has transpired between us has seemed vengeful, Miss Fowler, I can only beg–”
Emily shook her head. “Forgive me. That was a harsh choice of words. Correction is perhaps more apt?”
“If confessions are in order, Miss, allow me to add my own. Your presence aboard my ship, and indeed, in my life, has been, at times tumultuous, but also–” He stopped abruptly.
Emily turned slightly but said nothing, waiting for his next words.
“Emily…” he began, “If I may be permitted to call you that?”
In the darkness, Emily felt her cheeks flush. “Our acquaintance has been brief, Ethan, but of a nature which has given you a rather intimate knowledge of everything about me.” She laughed softly. “At this point, my name is perhaps the least private thing about me.”
“In that case, Emily, I must tell you that I’ve never known anyone who has provoked in me such irritation, and, at the same time, such– Allow me to ask you, outright. Is it still your intention to marry Mr. Wither
s when you return.”
Emily laughed. “My God, no! The man is a fop and a toad! I would sooner marry our own, dear Mr. Johnson.”
Ethan frowned. “I’m afraid that Mr. Johnson is not available. He already has a fine, plump wife in Gloucester and at least six fine, fat little Johnsons when last we called at that port. For all I know, there may well be another Johnson, by this time. Surely, though, there are other male prospects more appealing than the toad Withers.”
“None at all, actually. It shouldn’t come as a great surprise to you that I’m widely thought of as unmarriageable. It took Father all this time to persuade Mr. Withers that I might become a docile brood mare, given sufficient time, of course.”
Ethan moved close to her and put his hand to her cheek.
“What a terrible waste that would be. Although, I will admit that you certainly have the figure for it, if a man were given enough time to fatten you up a bit. I’m afraid that life aboard the Liza has made you very thin.” He lifted her hand and turned it over in his. “And the look of these hands and nails would cause a scandal in proper circles.”
Emily smiled. “As a child, I bit my nails terribly, and Mother put pepper on them to discourage it. But being the obstinate brat that I was, I simply learned to enjoy the taste of pepper.”
“I would have provided a considerably firmer incentive,” he said, chuckling softly. When he took her hand to pull her up from the keg and into his arms, Emily closed her eyes tightly and threw her arms around his neck, something she had learned from the slender novels she kept safely hidden beneath her stockings at home.
But when he kissed her, Emily sensed immediately that her novels had skipped over a good many significant details. Without knowing exactly why, or if it was proper to do so, she parted her lips to welcome the gentle exploration of his tongue, and pressed her body against him eagerly. With one hand wound in her hair, he drew her closer and kissed her again. The kiss was harder this time, and deeper, and Emily felt her upper legs weaken and tremble as if they were about to fail her. Ethan put his lips to her throat, murmured her name, and cupped her breast in his hand. Suddenly, Emily sank back down on the nail keg, breathless.
He touched her shoulder gently. “Emily, please. I didn’t mean to rush you into … Have I offended you?”
“Offended?” she cried. “Oh, my dear Ethan, no! I’m a ninny, that’s all. I’m afraid I’m something of a … a disappointing novice in these matters, and…”
Ethan took her hands in his. “It’s late, and we have an early day tomorrow. In addition, I should point out that the open bow of a crowded ship is an insufficiently private place to have this sort of conversation. As it is, I’m afraid the crew will probably have you with child by morning, so, unless you wish to add to the inevitable gossip, we should say goodnight, now. As to your being a novice, I can only assure you that the condition is quite curable. We are still some days from Halifax.”
Emily blushed furiously. Then, taking the captain’s arm, she allowed herself to be conducted to her cabin, past a number of his very curious crew.
Chapter Five
By twilight on the next evening, the Liza had dropped anchor in the fortressed harbor of Louisbourg, on Cape Breton. Since it was too late to see about the needed repairs, Ethan permitted most of the crew brief shore leave, and then took Emily with him into the town to inquire about the distance to the small village where Margaret lived. To Emily’s delight, they learned that the place was located less than two miles inland. Ethan quickly arranged for a message to be sent to Margaret, and for a carriage the following afternoon.
Afterward, he found a small hotel, and there being only one small combined bedroom/sitting room available, asked that a cot be placed in the smaller of the adjoining rooms.
“I believe this will ensure a modicum of privacy,” he apologized. “If you’re uncomfortable with the arrangement, however, I’ll collect my things and sleep aboard ship.”
“Of course, you shall stay here,” Emily insisted. “And you shall take the larger room, as well. After all, Ethan, there’s very little about me that you haven’t already seen at extraordinary proximity!” Emily blushed at her own shameless words, and began unpacking her small bundle of clothing.
“Good!” he exclaimed, blushing slightly himself. “Now that that’s sorted out, we can think about more important things, such as dinner. The last time I asked you to join me for a meal, you declined rather rudely,” he reminded her. “Perhaps you like me sufficiently, or are simply sufficiently hungry now to accept my invitation to supper at one of Louisbourg’s small inns. Much of the cuisine here is French, and generally excellent.”
“I accept gladly, Captain, although I’ll feel a bit guilty, with the boys having to dine on plain salt beef, without my company.”
Ethan chuckled. “Don’t be deceived by those sweet young faces, Emily. Without your wholesome influence in the forecastle, the talk will be of nothing but lewd women, depravity, and corruption. The boys will spend the entire time trading extravagantly embellished details of their fictitious sexual exploits, and wallow in such pollution and filth well past lights out. Your presence would simply interfere with their enjoyment. And when there are no ladies within earshot, they’re also extremely fond of belching competitions. We men are a coarse lot, even when we’re not yet old enough to shave.”
They dined on roast squab and shared a fine bottle of red wine, luxuries Emily had almost forgotten existed.
“Is the Liza your first ship?” she asked.
Ethan laughed. “No. Nor my last, I hope. For all the occasional discomfort of packeting, it’s a far sight better than naval duty. I had two ships shot out from under me during the war, and another stove in by a storm off the Carolinas.”
“You didn’t wish to remain a naval officer, then?”
“No. I’m afraid that I was ill suited to that kind of command. At least my crew are aboard by choice, and not pressed into service by threat of jail, or by a belaying pin across the head in a darkened alley. Nor will I ever again flog a man for simply failing to salute another.”
“Ah, but to flog a defenseless woman, that’s a different matter, I suppose?” she teased.
“Had you ever been flogged, Emily, dear, you would know the difference. And when, may I ask, have I asked that you salute me? A respectful bow is all that I require.”
Impulsively, Ethan leaned across the small table and kissed her, and somewhat shyly, she returned the kiss. Emily blushed and lowered her eyes. “You must forgive my awkwardness, Cap–I’m sorry, Ethan.”
“I detected no awkwardness,” he assured her, smiling.
“Thank you, but I’m quite aware of my … my social shortcomings. I was brought up to not speak of those things, to the point of being terrifyingly ignorant, I’m afraid. I can remember when I was twelve, my cousin Edward came for a visit. Edward was some months older than I, and much more worldly. While our parents were out visiting neighbors, he convinced me that a cool bath was the very thing that we children needed as a remedy for the day’s terrible heat. When Mother arrived home and found Edward and I, and sweet little pink Charity splashing together in the tub, all of us charmingly naked, she managed one dreadful cry before fainting dead away. Margaret took Charity and I to our rooms and scolded us both severely, but I’m afraid that poor Edward didn’t fare as well. I was told that my Uncle Henry bent him over the tub, still naked, and gave him an absolutely dreadful thrashing with a large strap. I felt awful, of course, considering my own possible complicity in the day’s events.”
Ethan smiled. “Well, Emily, I shouldn’t feel too guilty about it, if I were you. Having been that age once, I believe it’s more than possible that ‘poor dear’ Edward wasn’t quite as blameless in the matter as you think.”
Emily pondered the thought. “Well, of course, I did have that suspicion at the time, but it seemed terribly unworthy of me, considering Edward’s awful shrieks. After that day, he behaved quite differently around me, and I was t
erribly hurt by his indifference. It was as though he never wished to play with me again.”
He laughed. “I doubt that he was indifferent, Emily, but he may well have wished to play somewhat differently with you. More discreetly, certainly.”
“It says something about your own behavior, Ethan, that you could be so suspicious of poor Edward’s,” Emily observed. “I am certain that you were a roué from early childhood.”
He shook his head. “Not in the least. I was shy and extremely bookish until I was perhaps eleven years old. I found a book in my father’s library that included a number of explicit drawings of the women of the South Pacific, which inspired me to read further, of course. In the course of this purely scientific research, I came upon and read Mr. Melville’s book, Typee. It was thought improper fare for someone my age, so I was forced by that prejudice, along with an embarrassment of funds, to steal that excellent volume from a bookstall near my home, and then to read it at night by a single candle. When I had read it from cover to cover a good five times, I went to my father and informed him that I intended to follow in Mr. Melville’s steps and go to sea as a common seaman.”
“What did he say?”
“He paddled the seat of my impudent breeches with my copy of Typee, and then burned the damned thing. My father was an attorney, you see, and he had always assumed that I would follow in his footsteps, not in those of a foolhardy and poorly paid writer whose primary interest—in Father’s opinion—was in enjoying the company of bare-breasted women. So, I set about making my poor parents’ lives miserable until they agreed to my wishes. I refused to attend school, dressed in the most slovenly way imaginable, and declined to speak to either of them in a civil manner. When Father had finally broken enough stout sticks over my stubborn backside to be convinced of my determination, he relented, and found me a berth on a merchant ship whose master was a distant cousin. Father wouldn’t have me living aboard a whaler, and I have often thanked him for his good sense in that regard. There are no better, braver men anywhere on Earth than those that ship out on a whaling vessel, but it’s a hard and filthy business, and a dying one, now.
