The Deepest Waters, A Novel

by Walsh, Dan

  Laura did too. “My word . . . would you look at that.”

  The rolling hills along the western sky had become dark silhouettes; the sky above them was on fire. They both stood and took it in a few moments. While Laura’s eyes remained fixed on the scene, John kept stealing glances at her. Her free hand was just inches from his.

  “Did we ever get sunsets like this back East?” she asked.

  “Maybe,” he said. “I never saw them if we did.”

  “Too many trees and buildings in the way,” she said.

  Just take her hand.

  “That’s one thing I miss,” she said.

  “What?”

  “The trees back East. But I love how big the sky is out here and how far you can see in every direction.”

  “I do too,” he said. “After dinner, are you still open to what we talked about earlier?”

  She looked back at him. “You mean dancing at the Apollo ball?”

  John nodded.

  “I know I said yes before, but I’ve got to tell you . . . I’m getting more nervous about following through.”

  “We don’t have to go,” he said gently, though he wanted to badly.

  “I’ve been to the Apollo once with my brother. But I just sat watching all the other young ladies, how well they dance—”

  He reached for her hand; he didn’t realize he’d done it until it was too late. “Laura, I’m only going there to dance with one young lady. Truth is, we’ll probably both be terrible.” She laughed but, more importantly, she didn’t pull her hand away. Then he said, “I took dance lessons my mother forced on me in my youth. I’ve never even been to a real dance before.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Is that true?”

  “Laura, if you dance with me at the Apollo tonight, it will be the first dance I’ve ever had with someone I have asked myself.”

  She smiled. And she’d given him a look that felt more like a wonderful prize. “Then I will dance with you tonight, Mr. Foster.”

  They’d continued to walk along the bay a bit farther from there, looking at the sunset, looking at each other. She’d held her hat with one hand and his hand with the other. But just as the sunset had faded then, it was fading now on the raft.

  John closed his eyes, not wanting the memory to fade as well. He lay back on the raft, replaying the best parts over and over in his mind.

  11

  “Fear is such a peculiar thing.”

  When John opened his eyes, he saw stars. He must have drifted off. By the accent he knew it was Ramón. “What?” John asked.

  “Think about it. We have this raincoat because a man died. And he died because of a fear that he might die. Can anything be more ironic?”

  John sat up. Between the stars and the light of a half-moon he could see surprisingly well.

  His stomach growled, but he felt stronger than he had all day. Amazing what a little rest and fresh water can do. The sticky saltwater feeling was also gone. He was surprised that he wasn’t freezing and thought how much harder this ordeal might have been had it happened in October or November.

  “If he had not been afraid,” Ramón continued, “he would be alive right now, and it is we who might be dead tomorrow.”

  “I felt like I was dying today before the storm,” Robert said. “Never drank rain before, but it was the most refreshing thing I ever tasted.”

  “You know this coat full of water will give us trouble tomorrow,” said Ramón.

  “Why is that?” asked John.

  “Look around. All these men floating with us are fine now. They drank their fill of rain. But come midday tomorrow they’re going to realize . . . we’re the only ones with any water left.”

  “You’re right,” said Robert. “If we ration it between ourselves, it’ll last all day tomorrow, maybe a few days.”

  “And if we share it with the others,” said Ramón, “it will be gone in one sitting.”

  John looked out at the other men floating on the ocean. He couldn’t see the outlying edges of the group, but it seemed they had lost a few more while he slept. “I think we should share it,” he said. “Another storm could come.”

  “Or not,” said Robert. “And we’ll have nothing.” He stared at the coat like it was full of gold nuggets. “I don’t want to face another afternoon like today. I say anyone comes after this, and we fight. It’s every man for himself now.”

  “Really,” John said. “Where would you be right now if I’d thought like that yesterday?”

  Robert glared at him.

  “And what about this coat,” said John. “I could have taken it off out there, grabbed hold of the door the man was clinging to, and kept all this water to myself.”

  Ramón smiled. “Has a point there, Robert.”

  “But you didn’t,” Robert said. “And the way you nodded off like that . . . I’d say if you did, you’d have fallen asleep and the water would have spilled out. And you’d have nothing. We were all tired, but we were the ones catching the rain so the coat could fill up.”

  “So, Robert, what do you suggest?” said John. “We start kicking anyone who comes near? Then just watch them die of thirst, one by one?”

  “If we must.”

  “I can’t do that. I won’t do that.”

  “Then let’s vote,” said Robert.

  “That seems fair,” Ramón said.

  “I don’t think it is,” John said. “Some matters are too big to entrust to majority opinion.”

  “Nonsense,” said Robert.

  “John, I’m surprised at you,” Ramón said. “I thought all Americans believed in majority rule.”

  “We vote on a lot. But not whether a man lives or dies.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Robert said. “What do you think juries do? Weren’t you at that big hanging in San Francisco last year? Hung those two killers, Cora and Casey, right out there on Sacramento Street. Must have been ten thousand people watching. They got a trial, the jury voted, and the vote was all about whether they lived or died. And they died.”

  John remembered the hanging. And he remembered being curious enough to want to go see it. But Laura would’ve been mortified, so he pretended not to care.

  “I think he’s got you there, John,” said Ramón.

  “All right then,” John said. “We’ll vote.”

  “No, we won’t,” said Ramón. “I’m sorry, I’ve been toying with you men. Robert, as a delegate from Peru, I could never cast a vote that would bring harm to a citizen of your country. And you already know I’m not a fighting man. Though my preference is to keep the water for ourselves, I have to side with John on this.”

  Robert restrained his anger and looked away. A moment later, he turned back to face John and Ramón. “Well, then, we will all die out here together.”

  12

  The night breeze calmed Laura’s nerves.

  She was still standing near the bow. About an hour ago, the first mate had called Micah away to some duty. She had no idea what time it was. But she felt relieved to have made it through her first full day without John. It didn’t carry the weight of an achievement; she dreaded the thought of falling asleep, only to wake up and face another day. She tried remembering what it felt like when she was alone all the time, but it didn’t help. That was a different kind of alone.

  A picture came to mind: the large purple bougainvillea that grew just beyond her kitchen window in San Francisco. When in full bloom, it was almost shocking in its splendor. And it had bloomed just so throughout the summer. Everyone who saw it felt compelled to speak of its beauty. But just before the wedding, knowing she’d be gone a few months, she’d pruned it back. It broke her heart to see it after. Half its size, void of color. Its fullest branches lopped off and barren.

  That was her now.

  She noticed the sea had completely calmed. Maybe tonight she should just sleep out here on deck. She turned to find a suitable spot and noticed a young woman she had seen earlier today. She was about her age, th
e only woman on board who’d showed no signs of grieving. She was leaning on the rail at the same place as Laura, on the opposite side of the bow.

  She turned and saw Laura looking at her and smiled. Laura nodded, and the woman walked toward her and extended her hand.

  “I’m Melissa,” she said. “Melissa Anders.” She was pretty, a little shorter than Laura; her hair was a bit darker.

  They shook hands. “I’m Laura Foster.” She still cherished saying her last name.

  Melissa walked past her and leaned on the railing where Laura had just stood. “I love this breeze,” she said.

  “It is nice.” Laura came up beside her.

  “I’m so glad the waves have stopped. I thought it would never get calm again.”

  Laura looked at her face, bright and focused. Not a hint of sorrow. “I remember seeing you on the ship.”

  “Which one?” asked Melissa.

  “Both, I think.”

  “That’s possible. I was on the Sonora and the Vandervere.”

  “I don’t think I saw you but a handful of times, though,” Laura said, then realized that, until the storm, she had been completely preoccupied with John.

  “That was on purpose. I only came out when I had to, or when I knew the decks were mostly empty.”

  Laura wanted to ask why.

  “I guess that might sound strange,” Melissa said.

  “You don’t have to explain.”

  “I don’t mind telling you. It was all those men. There must have been hundreds of them on board.”

  As soon as she’d said it, their eyes met, and Laura knew she’d regretted saying it. All but six of those men were now gone.

  “I’m sorry,” Melissa said.

  “It’s all right. Does that mean you are . . . spoken for?”

  “Yes!” she said, her eyes as wide and smile as strong as any other woman in love. She made a face, as if apologizing for her zeal.

  Laura understood: the love of her life was not on either boat. “It must be hard for you, being on this ship, with everyone else grieving their loss.”

  “It is, but I think I understand what you and the others are going through. I felt it the moment the hurricane took hold of the Vandervere. I’ve never been so frightened in all my life. The force of that devilish wind and the ship going up and down, never ceasing, sliding sideways then righting again. I was certain it would capsize any minute.”

  Laura felt a chill, remembering the horrors again.

  “At some point, I knew I would die. And all the happiness inside me died. I thought I would never see my Tom again. We would never be married.”

  A few quiet moments passed.

  “Well,” said Melissa, “I’m sure you’re tired. I know I am. I should probably go below and try to sleep.”

  “It was nice to meet you,” Laura said.

  “And you.” Melissa turned toward the steps then turned back. “I haven’t been able to talk with anyone since we boarded. I’ve so missed good conversation. May we speak again?”

  Laura had enjoyed their brief chat but wasn’t sure she was up to anything deeper. “That would be nice.” Melissa disappeared into the shadows and Laura turned back to face the sea. She thought again of the phrase Melissa had just spoken: my Tom.

  She remembered the moment she could say that about her John. How delightful it had been when she finally knew he was for real, when the fear that it was all too good to be true had dissolved. It came on the ride home from their fourth date, a night very much like this. The moon half full, with just about the same number of stars, even the same cooling breeze coming in off the bay.

  The evening started back at her townhouse in South Park. On the first three dates, John had also picked her up there. He would knock then stand out by the sidewalk, waiting for her to come out. “To keep things proper,” he’d said. “I wouldn’t want your neighbors to ever have cause for gossip.”

  On the fourth date when he knocked, she opened the door slowly. It was already dark, the kerosene lamps flickering down the sidewalk. There stood John under the street lamp out front. So dashing, in a top hat and black frock coat, a golden silk vest, a white shirt and tie. Behind him, a two-seat, one-horse carriage with the most magnificent, shiny black horse. “What is this?”

  “My dear, I did say tonight would be special.”

  “You did, but I thought . . . maybe a nice restaurant.”

  “You haven’t liked the others?” He was smiling.

  “No, they were very nice . . . but you said to dress up.”

  “And you did. You look wonderful.”

  It was the nicest dress she owned. “Where did you get this?” She pointed to the carriage.

  “I bought it.”

  “You bought it? It must have cost a fortune.”

  “Well, I decided I want to take you to all the places I’ve been seeing on Shasta here.” He patted the horse’s neck. “They’re much too far to reach by foot.” He helped her into the carriage then stroked the horse gently on the nose. Shasta rested his head on John’s shoulder a moment then lifted it high, as though at attention. John got in beside her and snapped the reins. “Let’s go, boy.”

  They lurched forward, and she fell back against the seat.

  “Sorry, Shasta’s still getting used to this. And I’m afraid, so am I.”

  “How long have you had him?”

  “I got him as soon as I moved out here. He’s half Arabian. As soon as I saw him, I said ‘You are mine.’ We ride in the country together every Sunday after church. He can run like the wind.”

  “He’s beautiful.”

  “He is.” They turned down Third Avenue.

  “Where are we going?”

  “First to a very fine restaurant . . . not like those other places I’ve taken you.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I’m just being playful. They were just nice. Tonight will be exquisite. After dinner, we’re going for a ride. Have you ever been out to the Mission?”

  “No.” She’d wanted to, but it was way beyond the outskirts of town. She’d never feel safe taking a carriage there by herself.

  “Well, the plank road out there is a bit bumpy. When we talk, it will sound like we’re shivering. But they’ve turned the Mission into a wonderful place, especially at night.”

  Shasta had found his stride. That and the night wind made her cold. “I don’t think we’ll have to wait for the plank road to sound like we’re shivering.”

  “I’m sorry. It takes a lot for me to feel the cold. Here, I brought a blanket for you.” He reached under the seat and pulled it out. With the reins in one hand, he began to wrap it around her shoulders. She helped. He kept his arm around her shoulder a moment and drew her close. “I hope you don’t mind. I don’t want you catching a cold.”

  “I don’t mind,” she said, leaning in, trying to hide her smile.

  Later, they had the most wonderful meal at the nicest restaurant she’d ever visited. Everyone dressed like they were going to the opera. It had chandeliers and rich burgundy curtains, china plates and white linen. She felt out of place at first, but John seemed perfectly at ease. The way he looked at her and the things he said soon put her at ease.

  On the ride out to Mission Dolores, John told her about the places around San Francisco he wanted to take her in the coming weeks. Down the beach toward Black Point, then to Fort Point and the Golden Gate. The sand by the beach there, he’d said, was as hard and smooth as pavement. He rattled off a half dozen other spots, places she’d heard people talk about in town but she’d never been able to see. It thrilled her heart to hear it; not so much the thought of seeing all these sights, but the level of excitement in John’s voice and the anticipation of going to all these places with him.

  He had her back home by 10:30. The whole night, he was the perfect gentleman. But the whole night, she could tell . . . he was hers, her John. They were most definitely together now. All his language and mannerisms had said so. Why, he’d bought
a carriage, just for them. After she’d closed the front door, she ran up the stairs so she could see him pull away.

  She had done the very same thing on every one of their dates for the next year, right up to the night before their wedding. That night, his last words had been a delightful question: “Do you realize, my love, after tonight, we will never part again?”

  She looked out at the sea now and tried but could not suppress the memory of a phrase from their wedding day: till death do us part.

  Surely, God could not have intended them to part so soon. But here she was alone, with no reason to imagine she’d be anything but alone from now on.

  13

  Since he’d already slept a bit, John said he’d take first watch that night. The others were already asleep. He was responsible to make sure the bowl shape of the coat remained intact throughout the night. This meant all three men could barely move. If even one rolled over, a sidewall could collapse and the water would be lost.

  John estimated an hour had passed. It was peaceful and quiet. The night sky amazed him, as it so often did at sea. But all he could think about was Laura. They had only been apart one full day. Already it felt like weeks. What was she doing now? What was she thinking? Maybe she was asleep. Or maybe . . . looking up at the same sky.

  She must be so frightened.

  Before the hurricane hit, they’d walk the Vandervere’s main deck every night, and they’d have the most wonderful conversations. He loved to hear Laura’s outlook on life, on faith, on food . . . almost anything. On their first few dates she’d held back, unwilling to say anything until he’d almost have to insist. Then she’d say things he’d never heard before, unexpected things. She often made him laugh.

  One lunch date in particular came to mind. They were to meet at a small French restaurant on Montgomery Street in San Francisco, just off Broadway. What was its name? He couldn’t recall. He’d invited her there thinking to impress her. The clothing shops and eateries along Montgomery rivaled the finest Paris had to offer.

  He waited outside, then caught sight of her walking north down the sidewalk, mingled in a stream of passersby. She walked right past a dress shop, a haberdashery, a shoe store, and finally a jewelry store. She didn’t stop and look at a single window display. Occasionally, she glanced up to catch the sign hanging above each store. Her only interest appeared to be finding the restaurant.