Finley hesitated. “Yes.”
“How did the captain survive?” I asked.
“Others arrived in time. He was only a boy then and he saw horrible things.”
The ache at my side made me find a chair to sit. “The psychological ramifications .…” I began, but stopped. The words were correct, but I did not like the sound of them.
Suddenly a shout rang from outside: “Pirates!”
Finley sprang out the door, and I followed after him into the open air. I looked up to see a young sailor in a perch high over our heads. He was waving his arms at the first mate.
Finley quickly pulled a telescope from his belt and looked at a figure in the distance. And then, almost immediately he relaxed and put his telescope away. He gave orders for the men to sail on, and soon the little dot disappeared over the horizon.
“Was that a pirate ship?”
His gray eyes didn’t quite meet mine. “No, it wasn’t.”
“Wait a minute.” I pulled on his sleeve and took the telescope from him. I only got a glimpse when he took it back and began to move away. “I thought I saw a black flag ….”
“You hardly had the chance to see anything.”
“Still, I thought I saw ….”
“Forgive me, but you didn’t. Everything looks black from a distance.”
I pulled my arm away from him and stood firm. I regarded him closely. “Mr. Finley, you are lying to me.”
“Why should I lie to you?” he asked with some exasperation.
I stood and watched him, my hands on the wooden rail, the wind tugging at my skirts, my eyes on him as he carefully avoided my gaze. “Mr. Finley?” I asked.
“Yes?” He still did not face me.
“Why is Captain Tucker such a successful mariner?”
He answered immediately. “He is bold. Unafraid. He is known to agree to almost anything, moving whatever cargo through whatever waters, whatever the risk. Commissions no other Captain would dare touch, Captain Tucker makes his specialty. It is said in our circles that the storms steer around him, that he was born of the water and the water takes care of her children.”
“You sound very proud. Almost like a parent.”
He took out a pipe and began to fill it. “I suppose I do view him like a son. No, not a son. I won’t flatter myself. But I have known him these many years, and thank God for it.”
My eyes fell on the cross at Finley’s neck. He was fingering it again, and it angered me unreasonably. It was dark and heavy and reminded me of something before, something not long ago. The day before that heavy cross swung against his chest as he let those awful men pass him by without raising a hand to stop them, knowing they were bent on hurting me.
“Why do you wear that cross?” I had to ask him, my voice sharp.
His hand fell to his side. “It belonged to my father.”
“Are you a religious man, Finley?”
He eyes my warily. “I suppose.”
“Is that why you wear that cross?”
The interrogation was practical, to more fully understand the mindset of a man so close to the captain. And I was comforted by the anticipation of soon going back to the cabin and writing my records again. They had been too long neglected.
Now, however, I simply watched that dark, heavy cross around the first mate’s neck, finding it almost mocking. There was some kind of meaning, twisted and paradoxical, and I had to dissect it.
Finley looked out at the ocean and ran his fingers through his short, cropped hair and then down his face. He finally answered, “I wear it to remind me.”
“Remind you? Of what?”
He struggled with what to say. And then he answered, his words touched with impatience. “Miss Madera, surely you understand religion.”
“Do you wear it to remind you of your sins?” I asked snidely.
“Yes,” he answered. It really cannot be a surprise that my insinuation was lost on him.
“To keep you comfortable and protected and guided and all that? Is that what you believe?”
He paused and then asked, “What do you believe in, Miss Madera?”
“Facts,” I answered aggressively. “I believe in logic, reason, the scientific method.” I looked out onto the ocean and continued, “And I believe in the universe. In order. The elements. I believe there is a sort of fate in evolution, I guess.”
There was a pause as he watched me, and then he said, “You make life sound like a mathematical equation. But there be things reason can’t explain. Not human reasoning. The most important things, I believe. And there’s weakness and pain and regret.”
I replied pointedly, “And what do you regret, Mr. Finley?”
He looked away and said quietly, “So many things.” He touched his cross again.
Chapter Five
Notes: Satisfied with research despite unpleasant setback. Information abundant and exhilarating. Attempt at communicating an expression of grief for tragic personal loss a success. Captain pleased.
Suspicion that preparatory education was insufficient, confirmed. Vast knowledge still elusive. Much still to learn – even here, where information is considerably limited.
When Captain Tucker opened his eyes days later, I was waiting for him. I had been browsing through his books, but having some difficulty in concentrating on them.
He woke up with a start. “Miss Madera?” he exclaimed sharply.
“Yes, Captain?” I hurried to him. “What is it?”
“You are unharmed?”
“I’m fine. What is the matter?”
“It must have been a dream, I … there was a fight ….”
“Everything is alright. Do you worry for me even in your sleep?”
He put a hand to his head. “You’ve plagued my life out since I fished you from the ocean.”
I grew very solemn as I watched him suffer from his illness– an illness most likely brought on by the necessity of sleeping on the cold floor.
Something must have shown on my face because his brows came down. “What is it?”
Keeping my gaze on him, I tried to scoot forward, but I couldn’t because the chair was attached to the floor. I was heading into unfamiliar territory. “Captain, would I hurt you if ….” He closed his eyes as though I pained him. “Oh, I beg you. Not now,” he pleaded.
I had chosen the wrong course, I could see. Still, my mind could not rest as I watched his face. I cleared my throat and tried again.
“Captain?”
He sighed wearily. “What?”
I began again, feeling my way blindly. “What I mean is … may I say that I’m sorry for the difficulty of your youth without causing you more pain? Or should I not embark on the subject at all? Or … or is it possible that my sympathy might ease some of the lingering suffering?”
He opened his eyes. “Difficulty of my youth? What do you mean? What did Fin tell you?”
“Oh, hardly anything. Rest assured. But I’m glad I learned even a little. It increased my knowledge of you.”
“For your infernal notes?”
“No. That it may prevent me somewhat from blundering in the future and causing you unnecessary pain out of sheer ignorance.”
I waited for him to respond, but there was only a slight withdrawal, a closing off of access. He was an essentially private man who did not let people get close to him.
“Then I have been impudent? I should not have pried?”
“As though it were possible.”
I fell back against my seat. “Is that how you view me? Well of course you would. I’ve been a stupid, interfering fool.”
He scoffed, his posture easing a fraction. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
I leaned forward, studying his face. “Oh,” I said in relief. “You aren’t angry. You’re wary and aloof, but not angry. Perhaps even slightly amused. My fears are alleviated. So I may tell you that your experience filled me with sadness? Does that ease some of the pain, Captain?”
He shook his head,
watching me. “It was years ago.”
“Grief is never really over … I’ve read.”
He leaned against his pillows and looked up at the ceiling. He seemed easier, his shoulders not quite so stiff and anticipatory.
“And compassion is helpful? Is it, Captain?”
He regarded me. “No. Compassion is usually simulated and self-serving and puts me on my guard.”
“But — ”
“However,” he interrupted, raising a hand, “I admit your peculiar brand of clumsy earnestness is not entirely … unpleasant.”
I smiled at him, undergoing a sort of exhilarating pleasure at my success. Now he was truly watching me, his eyes traveling over my face with care, almost no apprehension in his gaze.
“Strange, isn’t it, Captain, the peculiarities of human nature? That commiseration, while essentially ineffective in that it can neither alter circumstances nor offer instruction, is able to facilitate psychological repair.”
I continued with little fear, moving forward and dropping to my knees beside the bed. I even clutched his sleeve in my eagerness. His eyes went to my hand.
“And, Captain, may I say that I wish I could have done something to save you from it … that I could have been there. Wish is such a useless word! And I rarely use it. But I do wish … I wish I could have been allowed to prevent it.”
His lips twitched in amusement. “I thank you for the gesture, though I’m not sure a woman would have been much help … let alone an infant not yet born.”
“What I meant was, I wish things could have gone differently for me so that I might have … have changed things for you.” My words slowed as I watched his face.
“What do you mean?”
I looked at him lying there, watching me. And suddenly I knew … I knew he would disbelieve me as absolutely as my ex-colleagues had. And I could not fault him for it. The truth was too fantastic to be believed, and took much faith. Surely I would have done the same before my dream and denounced the time traveler as a lunatic.
And I had done precious little thus far in my journey to prove contrary to that label.
I rose and sat back in my chair. I looked down at my lap and fingered my skirt. “N-nothing,” I stammered.
He did not reply, and I looked up to find him watching me. My heart flooded with relief, and I knew I had done right. For the first time since I’d met him, he seemed almost at ease.
*** *** ***
The next morning I awoke to find the captain striding into the room. He was fully dressed, and he seemed to have been up for a while. Obviously, he was already hard at work. He went to the desk and began going through the drawers.
“Have you awoken at last?” he asked shortly.
I squinted at him. “Captain? You are recovered already?”
“Of course,” he answered with some arrogance.
I looked around in confusion. “How … how did I get into bed?” I asked. “I distinctly recall falling asleep on the floor.”
Without turning, he muttered, “I put you there this morning.”
“But why?”
“Because I didn’t want you on the floor at all, let alone night after night,” he answered sharply. “We have to go for a stroll on deck together sometime today,” he continued, finally turning, “to show the crew that we are reconciled …. Not right this minute, Miss Madera,” he exclaimed. “No need to catapult yourself from the bed like a jackrabbit. We can go when you’re ready.”
I relaxed against my pillows again and rubbed my eyes. “Reconciled?” I repeated and stretched.
He shifted through his papers. “Yes. Because of that scene the other day. They have to know our … relationship is still intact.” He swore under his breath and slammed a drawer shut. “Where is that infernal thing?” he muttered, suddenly annoyed.
He pocketed some items on the desk, then went to the trunk and pulled out another dress and dropped it on the bed.
“This intrigues me, Captain,” I told him, reaching for the dress. “Why should we stroll outside together? What will this accomplish?”
“I want the men to see us together, to see I’m in control. I want to extinguish any lingering thoughts of rebellion and bring order back to the ship. Do you understand?”
“And a stroll on deck will do all of this?” I asked amazed.
“If you do your part and behave suitably penitent.”
“Fascinating. And yet, I don’t quite understand.”
He sighed. “The men have seen us at odds. You’ve openly defied me. They need to see that it is no longer the case.”
“Why?” I asked, looking for a pencil and paper.
“How can I expect to maintain control over a hundred men if I can’t even handle a lass half my size? They need to know I can manage you as well as I can manage them.” He turned back to his desk and added under his breath, “However little it may be the truth.”
“What will we get to see? May I take notes?” I asked.
“Just the top deck.”
“Not below deck at all?”
“And while we’re out there, don’t hound me. It would defeat the purpose.”
“I shall be as biddable as a lamb,” I promised.
Later, I strolled on deck arm in arm with the captain, taking deep breaths of sea air, enjoying being outside again after the days indoors.
“How long shall we walk?” I asked.
“It won’t take long. A short stroll will suffice.”
To my surprise the crew knew nothing of the captain’s fever, but only made some crude remarks about what might the captain be doing in his cabin, alone with a lovely lass for days.
“Punishin’ her, no doubt,” a sailor answered.
The captain, I noticed, didn’t reprimand the men as I thought he might, just simply reminded them there was a lady present and then demanded an explanation for the un-mended net.
When we turned away, the captain said, “We’ll let them think what they like, Miss Madera. It is unpleasant, but necessary.” He sounded somewhat gruff.
“Rachel,” I said.
“What?”
“Wouldn’t you call me Rachel? Wouldn’t custom dictate that you would … considering?”
He looked away. “Rachel then.”
“And what shall I call you?”
“Captain, of course.”
“Really? Not your first name … your Christian name? Even in private conversation? Is that customary?”
“It will do for us.”
A strange feeling of disappointment filled me, though I couldn’t understand why. Permission to use his first name was not emotionally significant to me. I was merely doing research, only observing, indifferent to the outcome.
“What is the principle behind this reticence, if I may ask? Is it uncustomary, or simply a personal disinclination?”
He sighed. “It is absolutely beyond your power to refrain from dissecting everything to death, isn’t it?”
I leaned forward. “I simply need it for my records. Surely you can tell it to me if I promise not to use it in conversation, since it’s clear you feel I’ve proven unworthy of the honor.”
He looked at me alarmed. “What? It has nothing to do with that.”
“I don’t blame you, after all I’ve done ….”
“I said it isn’t that!”
Some men looked in our direction, and the captain turned and steered me towards the bow of the ship.
He bent and, in a whisper, directed me to lean my head against him.
I did so willingly with a weary sigh. He clenched his fist and muttered, “Bloody fool.”
“Captain!”
“Not you.” Silence. And then between his teeth he said, “Mallory.”
I looked up at him in surprise. “Mallory? Who’s she?”
He grimaced.
“You mean, that’s your name?”
“Lower your voice.”
“Is that your name? Mallory Tucker?” I carefully repeated it. “Captain M
allory Tucker. Mister Mallory Tucker. Hmm. Unusual. Feminine on the outset. Yes. I like it.” I regarded him reflectively. “So that’s why you didn’t want to tell me your name. I thought it was because you disliked the idea of being on familiar terms with me. But it’s not, is it, Captain?”
His eyes scanned my face. “No, Rachel,” he said quietly.
I suddenly shivered. I wrapped the wool shawl closer around my shoulders.
“It is because you are ashamed your name is ambisexual.”
“Ambi-what?”
“Ambisexual — can be used with both sexes.”
“That’s not a word,” he scoffed.
I fingered his sleeve thoughtfully. “Hmm … it’s possible I just invented it. Shall we consult a dictionary?”
He laughed. “No. There’s no need.”
“Captain!”
“What?”
“I’ve never heard you laugh before.”
He returned his gaze to the water. “I don’t do it very often.”
I carefully watched him, his hair ruffled by the breeze. “In the future, perhaps,” I finally said, turning to the horizon, “to avoid confusion, you might clarify yourself. I experienced some discomforting sensations before I fully understood you.”
“As you say,” he answered with excessive sobriety. His jaw was wide, and I noticed he had the slightest cleft in his chin.
“But I think I will still call you Captain.”
I looked out over the ocean, my arm through his, as per his instructions.
Chapter Six
Notes: Eureka! I’ve found it! (Captain notably less enthusiastic.)
The remaining weeks on the ship passed without much incident. Kept in the hold for the remainder of the trip, Charles Tipkins had virtually disappeared. And I stayed mostly out of the crew’s way, keeping either to my cabin or by the captain’s side. The men eyed me cautiously, and I eyed them cautiously, but that was the end of it.
And remarkably, I felt a strange new exhilaration in the prospect of my adventure, despite the harrowing experience. That is to say, I was still cautious and uneasy, but there was a new charge in the atmosphere that I found difficult to explain. Colors seeming more vibrant, the wind more biting or caressing, and the smallest details more in focus than ever before. I attempted many times to dissect the reason behind these changes, but I was unable, so finally, all I could do was take pleasure in them. Eventually, it seemed hardly to matter that I couldn’t deduce the psychological reasoning behind it. I only knew that it felt good. It was almost as though that was enough.
The Dreamer (The Fall Series) Page 4
