Surrender the Wind

by RITA GERLACH

  “Thank the Almighty for the lack of rain.” Sir Charles peered out at the open sky. “Otherwise the roads would be difficult.”

  Seth, too, peered out. “Latterbuck's pursuit will be easier too.”

  Sir Charles laid an assuring hand over Seth's shoulder. “My driver knows this route well. He’ll get you through. Steel your courage.”

  “Courage I lack not, Sir Charles. It is the idea of leaving her. Not even the chance to visit her grave … and losing the chance to clear my name.”

  “You mustn’t think of that. She’d want you to flee for your life, Seth.”

  They had driven out as far as a mile when the coachman called back, “Riders in the rear, Sir Charles!”

  “Let the horses loose,” Sir Charles ordered.

  The canter picked up to a full gallop over the high road that led toward the Devonshire coast. Seth reached inside his coat, drew out his pistol, and set the barrel on the window frame.

  “When we reach the shore, you’ll be let out,” Sir Charles said. “A skiff will be waiting to take you out to the ship. Tell them Sir Charles has sent you. I’ll delay Latterbuck if he should stop me. I wish you well.”

  The coach rolled to a stop and Seth jumped out. With no time to speak his thanks or say farewell, he leapt over the crumbling Roman wall and went on a way before crouching behind a hedgerow. With concern, he peeked over the edge and watched the horsemen surround the coach.

  “Constable, fancy seeing you twice in one day,” he heard Sir Charles say.

  Latterbuck's voice rose above the wind. “Didn’t you notice we were in pursuit?”

  “My coachman is not attentive.”

  Latterbuck moved closer to the window. “Why did he pause?”

  “Must I explain to you of all my business? It is my stomach, sir. The roll of the coach, you see. You stopped us once already. I insist this is the last time!”

  Latterbuck set his fist against his lips and stifled a belch. “I’ve been to Ten Width and found Seth Braxton is not there. No one at Henry Chase seems to have seen him. His family had nothing of significance to tell. I surmise he is in hiding.”

  “I have no advice to give you, Constable,” Sir Charles said. “Good-bye.”

  Seth waited with his breath heaving. Once he heard the coach roll off and the horses gallop on, he slipped away from the hedgerow and hurried down a steep embankment of trees that met the shore.

  Through the fog, he spied a pair of men waiting beside a small rowboat. Silently, they motioned to him to climb in, then pushed off into the sea. He stared back at the land, and loneliness swept over him. The salty breeze caressed his face. The wind rose and rushed through the darkness as the skiff mounted and fell over the swells.

  He reached inside his pocket and drew out a silver locket containing Juleah's portrait and a lock of her hair. He closed his hand over it and held it fast, relieved he had not lost it.

  36

  Juleah stood at the rail of the ship and gazed out at the ocean. She wondered, with yearning for Seth, how much longer it would be until they reached land. In her hand, she held the letter, opened it, and read it once more. The edges were frayed now from so much handling.

  She tucked it away in her sleeve for safekeeping and saw the seabirds whirling near the forecastle.

  Four weeks into the voyage, she befriended a seabird. Of what kind she did not know, having never seen one like it before. The head and underbelly were pale pink among a mantle of chalky gray. A thin black ring encircled the bird's head. Its scarlet legs looked too thin to hold up its body, but it managed to stand upon the sill against a lusty breeze. She saved scraps of bread; in the mornings and before sunset, the bird would swoop from the masts and land in her window. From her hand it took the morsels, and she grew attached.

  Back in her cabin, she stood at the window waiting for the seabird until the sun slipped behind a crimson line of thunderclouds. By late afternoon the sky turned leaden, and she knew then why she had not seen the bird. Above decks, she heard Captain Roche shout. She went topside, felt the wind strengthen, and saw the sea churning. No longer did it appear shimmering verdigris, but angry black granite.

  The sails filled with the gusts and the ship heaved forward and cut into the waves. The timbers creaked and moaned. The sea crashed against the hull, lifted the ship, and brought it down again into the sea's dark embrace.

  She looked up at the threatening sky with her heart racing. Clouds covered the vaulted heavens in great swirling masses of blue-gray and coal. Tepid air brushed over her skin. Pushing against her, the wind howled. She felt its power to do harm descend out of the sky. Seamen climbed the riggings to furl the billowing sails that strained against the ropes and whipped back and forth.

  She caught the eye of one particular seaman. While he pulled hard at the ropes he fastened, he glanced about, then proceeded swiftly toward her.

  “A great storm approaches.”

  Juleah shoved back her hair against the wind and with a steadfast soul gazed up into the stormy swirl that loomed above. Streaks of lightning scored the sky. Thunder pealed. She raised her face to the wild and brooding heavens, then looked at the old seadog standing before her.

  “We are in great danger?”

  His eyes, sober and grave, locked into hers. “Aye. Great danger.”

  “Are we near land?”

  “Off the Carolinas. I’ve been at sea long enough to know we’re in for a rough time.”

  She glanced at him with a start. Deep concern mounted in his eyes. “But it is only a storm, and Captain Roche knows what he is doing.”

  The seaman leaned forward. “Beneath these treacherous waters, hundreds of shipwrecks lay in a tangled web. It's the graveyard of the Atlantic. By the force of the wind and current, we’ve sailed straight into Diamond Shoals.”

  Juleah gripped her hands together as a chill tapped over her spine. “Then we are doomed.”

  “I’ll watch over ye.” The old seaman moved closer and leaned toward her ear. “I know your husband and I owe it to him.”

  She clutched his sleeve. “You know Seth? How?”

  “It's a long story. My name's James Bonnecker, at your service.” And he bowed to her quick and smart.

  “Tell me, James Bonnecker. Did my husband send you?”

  “I serve on this ship by my own doing, ma’am. Now ye must go below. The water's looking mighty rough, and it’ll get rougher by the minute.”

  She hoisted her skirts and hurried back to her cabin. Inside she went to the window, pulled the pane shut, and pushed down the latch. Wind shoved against the glass, as if angry to no longer have entrance. Panes rattled. Timbers moaned and trembled as the yawning sea lifted the hull.

  Huddled in the corner of her cot, Juleah drew in her breath. With each heave of the ship, each rise and fall, she waited for the full force of the storm's fury. Judith Dirk had not come and Juleah's dislike and distrust for her deepened.

  The woman has abandoned me. But you are with me, O Lord.

  She buried her face within her arms and prayed for her life and all those on board to be spared. She could not see the mammoth wave that towered over the ship, but she could hear it. Its roar peaked and then it slammed onto the decks. The force vibrated through each timber and beam. She listened to the hiss the wave made as it poured over the rails, swept over the deck, and ripped the rigging.

  Her door was flung open. Within the threshold stood James Bonnecker, soaked and breathless, with eyes huge with fear. He rushed inside, grabbed her by the hand, and took her out of the cabin and up on deck. Glazed with foam, the water receded, pulled and tore at the ship, and made way for another swell. She lifted her eyes, and a dark image loomed before her. The terror of it bound her speech. It was the sea mounting up on all sides.

  “The ship is sinking. Many will die. But not you, lass!” Bonnecker shouted over the roar of ravaging wind and gulping waves. He put his arms tighter around her and helped her forward.

  “Take me back,” she
cried. “The sea will sweep us away!”

  “Do you want to be entombed in the sea?”

  She shook her head, with her frightened eyes wide upon him.

  Bonnecker turned her to the rail. To the west, dark forms jutted up out of the sea as if broken castle walls. “We’ll be hitting those rocks,” Bonnecker said, “and when we do the ship will be torn in pieces.”

  Juleah clung with numb hands to the rail. She watched the helmsman struggle to turn the ship's wheel. The wind shoved against him. His hands slipped from the pegs. He fell, but held on. Captain Roche came to his aid and wrestled with the wheel to right it. The ship turned as the rudder moved. But due to the strength of the wrathful sea, it made little progress. Cold black granite loomed ahead. It grew closer, until the side of the ship struck. The rocks tore at the hull. From below men scurried like drowning rats up to the deck. Some jumped overboard into the sea and swam for the rocks. Others clung to whatever they could.

  With her rain-drenched hair clinging to her face, Juleah glanced at Judith Dirk. The woman's eyes were huge with fear. Captain Roche hurried to her, and Juleah saw him lift her in his arms and carry her to a lifeboat. He drew out his knife to cut away the cords that secured it. At that moment, a most frightening sound crackled in the wind. The main mast snapped and crashed down upon the deck. Stunned with horror, Juleah saw it strike the boat, split it in two, and throw Judith Dirk and Captain Roche into the sea.

  The ship listed to port, and as the water came up Bonnecker freed Juleah's hands from the rail and carried her over the side. She clung to him, and he leapt out from the ship with her in his arm. Together they shot down into the sea, and Bonnecker swam with her to the surface. Juleah gulped for air and spit the saltwater from her mouth. He held onto her, swam toward a plank of floating wreckage, and dragged her body up onto it. Men around them were drowning, as they cried out to God and their mothers.

  “Hold tight,” cried Bonnecker. “Shut your eyes and pray.”

  Rain pelted her face. Her limbs went numb, but she kept a firm grip on the raft of wood that held her above the water. As quickly as it had come, the rain lessened and finally ceased. Shivering, she listened to the crash of the water against the granite fortresses.

  “James Bonnecker!” she called several times, but no reply followed.

  With the meager strength she had left, Juleah hauled herself up, until her body was out of the water. She did not know which was worse, the cold of the sea or the wind. If the sun came out, it would warm her, dry her clothes. She raised her face and drifted farther away from the rocks. A new fear gripped her that she would be lost in the sea, to die atop a piece of wreckage.

  Seth. Seth.

  Laying her head between her arms, she prayed, I beg you, God. Do not let me die here. Please, let me live. Let me find Seth again.

  The clouds drifted off. Twilight fell over the sea. Fog snaked around her. She raised her head and strained to listen. A sound echoed across the way, far at first, but now closer. A bell clanged and a voice called out. A light, small and feeble, pierced the curtain of mist.

  Rallying herself, Juleah called back. “I am here!”

  “Ho there,” came the reply. “We’re coming!”

  A moment later, a boat slipped through the sea toward her, and a pair of strong hands reached out to lift her inside. Safe at last, she lay in the bow, her head pillowed upon a bundle of gear. Too weak for speech, she closed her eyes and wished not to see the ocean that surrounded her.

  37

  The boat that carried Juleah slid over the beach, and the men within it jumped out. A strong muscular fellow lifted her into his arms and took her away from the surf. He was a black man, and when she glanced up into his rugged face she feared him, for she had never seen an African before.

  “Now you are safe here.” His voice, deep and baritone, comforted her. “There's nothin’ to fear from any of us folk. My name is Juba. We’ll take care of you.”

  Juleah felt like a child in the man's arms. He had allayed her fears, and she rested her head against his powerful chest and heard the beat of his heart. Soaked through, her clothes clung to her body. Exhausted, she shivered and her lips trembled with cold.

  A fishing village of ramshackle shanties stood back from the beach, at the border of wooded land. Nets, the color of seaweed, were spread to dry among upturned fishing boats drawn up on the beach. Broad-winged gulls wheeled overhead. The air smelled clean, unlike the brackish breeze of the Devonshire coast. Barefoot children and turbaned women moved along the shore and gathered up wreckage. Barrels of ale and crates of oranges rolled in the surf and washed up onto the sand.

  Juleah looked past Juba's massive shoulder. Men had begun the sad deed of pulling bodies from the surf. Juleah moaned and looked away. The coolness of the wind brushed against her cheek. Children gathered around, their voices calling.

  She saw a woman of great age at the opening of a shanty. Her faded calico dress fluttered in the breeze. Tight wisps of steel-gray hair floated around her face and red kerchief. She stepped aside as Juleah was carried into the humble dwelling. The woman followed. Laid in a hammock, Juleah gathered the old woman's patchwork quilt around her.

  “Poor chil’,” the old woman cooed. “You been through an awful thing. Praise da Lor’ you made it. It's a miracle, and you be in da sea.”

  “You nurse her, Lucy. Make her strong again. She got a husband or a mama and papa somewhere.” Juba leaned down to get a closer look. “She looks like an angel, don’t she?”

  “Deed she do, Juba,” Lucy said.

  Juba turned and headed for the outside. “There be work to do. Burials. We need to hide those barrels and crates so Master, when he come, don’t find them and take it all ’way.”

  Juba's large frame blocked the doorway, and when he went out Juleah watched the silver light of the outdoors return and felt it alight upon her face. Lucy patted her forehead with a tender hand.

  “You go to sleep, chil’. You needs rest, ’cause you been through a terrible thing.”

  Juleah closed her eyes and drifted back into a world of dreams, where Seth waited for her.

  The following day the sun bathed the surface of the ocean and caused grains of sand to sparkle like gems. Blue sky shimmered through the doorway and Juleah lifted herself up. Her body ached, but she was at least warm under the quilt. Lucy had hung her dress and chemise on a hook to dry. She got up and slipped them on. No longer did they smell of the sea. Instead, the scent of lye soap was upon them.

  As she dressed, Juleah paused to study the hovel. It had a single entrance with no door. A woven mat covered it, thrown back and tied with a cord. The walls were made of rough-cut logs and old boards. A mix of sand and dirt made up the floor, packed down hard and even. A table, a chair, a tin plate, and bread bowl were the worldly goods Lucy owned.

  While she laced the front of her dress, pulled the ribbons and tied them, tears pooled in Juleah's eyes. She combed her hair out with her fingers and turned to the opening where she laid her hand upon the side to peer out. The beach was white as the wings of gulls, the sky as clear and peaceful as the twilights at Henry Chase.

  In Devonshire she was used to the stony beaches and grassy cliffs that brooded over the sea. Here the sand looked smooth and soft as cotton. She stepped out and her bare feet sank into it. The sand felt cool and she remembered how the grass at Henry Chase felt surrounding the pond.

  Mama. How grieved she must be without her.

  Dear Papa. How confused he must be by her absence.

  Jane. Thomas.

  Seth, my beloved.

  Her heart ached for him, troubled as to how far away she was from him. She had been foolish to believe Judith Dirk. Seth would have never sent her away without him, and the letter made no mention of her journey. Would he discover what happened and search for her?

  No. Darden will see to it no one knows.

  Twelve slave women sat together on the beach sorting out the morning's catch. They talked of this and
that, put their children on their knees. Each was dressed in calico with her hair hidden beneath a bright kerchief—some red, others a fanciful orange.

  Lucy stood and waved to Juleah. “You hungry, chil’? You come here and I’ll give you something.” She pushed breakfast around in a skillet over the fire. “I thought the good Lor’ were gonna take you, but you is better now, but not strong yet.”

  Juleah shoved aside her hair when the wind blew it across her eyes. “You took care of me?”

  “I take care of all the sick folk round here.”

  “Thank you. I wish to thank the men who rescued me as well.”

  “Slave folk ain’t used to being thanked.”

  Juleah took hold of Lucy's hands. They were rough against her soft ones. “I owe you and them my life.”

  Lucy's eyes glistened, and she snatched her hands away. “You's a good woman, I can tell. But you ain’t from here, and you don’t know the ways of white folks and slaves.”

  “Indeed not, but I know the ways of God,” Juleah said. “And that is all I need.”

  Lucy set her head side to side. “Some folk have their reward in dis life. Ours comes later when we go to heaven. What's your name, chil’?”

  “Juleah Braxton. I’ve come from England.”

  “Why’d you leave England for this place?”

  “It is a long story.”

  “I got time.” Lucy handed a wooden bowl piled with roasted fish to Juleah. “If you be wanting to tell me.”

  Juleah unfolded to Lucy the events that led her to the fishing camp. When she was finished speaking, Lucy pinched her brows and puckered her lips. “Folks treated you bad, Miss Juleah.”

  For a moment, Juleah looked at the old woman's wrinkled face and kind brown eyes. Touched by the slave woman's kindness, and her patience to listen to such a tale, Juleah laid her head in her arms and cried.